


When I Say Run, Run

by throughtheparadox



Series: When I Say Run, Run [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adlock, F/M, the adlock yacht
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughtheparadox/pseuds/throughtheparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Irene escaped Karachi and went their separate ways. However, as the universe is often so lazy, they find themselves along each others' paths once more. Irene seeks refuge in 221B, making both of them unlock mysteries within themselves that they did not expect to exist at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I Say Run, Run

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever (reposted this from ff.net and so are some other works) and I'm quite new to Ao3 too so I'm excited to share this to y'all. Story also posted in FF.net and my tumblr, throughtheparadox.tumblr.com
> 
> You can also tweet me and send in prompts over at @Amandamaziiing
> 
> Enjoy! :)

One quiet afternoon, while silently lying on the couch, Sherlock Holmes had his eyes shut, slowly wandering in the depths of his mind palace. Deleting the unnecessary was his procedure after something becomes irrelevant. Almost everything is irrelevant. There are only a few things in the world that he deemed important to keep in his hard drive. 

If there was one thing he can’t delete, it was the memory of her—-the woman. It was not because of love, for he, of all people, knows that sentiment is a disadvantage. It was more of an epiphany that even the great Sherlock Holmes can be almost beaten. 

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!

"Who is it now?!?" Sherlock hissed as he reached for his mobile phone. 

"Sherlock. I have some news." said Mycroft on the other line. "It’s about Irene Adler."

"You’ve made it clear, Mycroft. I have nothing to do with her anymore. What makes you think I’m of interest to her now?" Sherlock replied. 

"Well then. I guess you wouldn’t want to know that she was being held captive in a terrorist cell in Karachi." Mycroft mused, with a tone of superiority.

Sherlock remained silent, his thoughts unclear. What is Mycroft trying to get out of him? A reaction? A show of care? Clearly he must be playing him.

On the other hand, he thought of Irene Adler. She was smart… An equal. He owed her the great pleasure of a great mind game to which he almost lost.

"Well Sherlock. I guess you dozed on me again. I’m hanging up."

"Mycroft." Sherlock replied, his tone almost hesitant. "Surely you can fly me there immediately."

Mycroft laughed on the other end of the line. “Is this caring Sherlock? Like Redbeard all over again?”

"Don’t mock me, Mycroft. Can you fly me there or not?" Sherlock bellowed. 

"Yes, Sherlock. I can."

***

"When I say run… RUN!" Sherlock breathed. 

With Mycroft’s help, Sherlock fought off the terrorists setting Irene free. 

"You can’t hold all of them off. Go ahead and run after her." Mycroft whispered in Sherlock’s earpiece. "I’ll have my people take care of the rest."

After catching his breath, Sherlock saw Irene Adler watching him from the corner of the street. 

"Well, Mr. Holmes. You came to my rescue just right after I bid you goodbye." Irene purred. 

Sherlock went to her side and nodded. “I found a place for you to stay for the mean time. Follow me, Ms. Adler.”

As they walked down the street, Sherlock noticed that Irene Adler kept on glancing at him. When they reached the hotel Mycroft has arranged for them, Sherlock brought Irene to her room. 

"Good night, Ms. Adler."

"Wait." Irene called, reaching for Sherlock. "Can we talk, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, noticing her trembling hands, her nails chipped and cracked which may indicate that she has struggled to get free for days. Her eyes are swollen and had dark shadows indicating at least two days of sleeplessness. He remembered how he found out that Irene Adler fancies him and how he figured what she means when she asked him to have dinner. 

"I… What do you want from me, Ms. Adler?" he mumbled. 

She opened the hotel door and motioned for them to come inside. Sherlock followed.

Irene sat on the bed and Sherlock slumped on the couch across her. 

"You must be tired, Ms. Adler. I’ll leave you to rest."

"Mr. Holmes. About… the last time we saw each other. I… I’m…" Irene uttered. 

Sherlock stared at her, “Ms. Adler. I told you, sentiment is found on the losing side. You don’t want to lose twice now do you? That’s in the past now. Good night.”

Irene smiled, shaking her head. “What do you say about dinner, Mr. Holmes?”

"Ms. Adler. I came here to make sure you live. Not… to have dinner." 

Irene laughed and reached for Sherlock’s hand. “I mean real dinner. I’m famished. Would you join me?”

Sherlock smiled. “I’ll call for room service.”

As Sherlock sat on the couch, apparently lost in his thoughts again, Irene Adler watched him intently. She laughed when Sherlock almost jumped when room service knocked on their door. 

As they eat, Sherlock glanced at Irene, and he saw how she can’t seem to wipe the smile off her face. Irene looked up at him and sighed. 

"Will I see you again, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, running the fork slightly along her lips. 

Sherlock stared at her, thinking of a response. He was not sure where Mycroft would take her after tonight and he was unsure, for the first time, if he wanted to cross paths with Irene Adler again. He just averted his stare back to his food and continued eating. 

As they finished, Sherlock stood up and walked to the door. Irene followed him as he stepped to the corridor and reached for his shoulder. 

"Mr. Holmes. Please take care of my heart." she called.

Sherlock turned around and as he did, Irene planted a slight kiss to his lips. “Until we meet again.” she whispered as she turned away and closed the door to his face.

***

Mycroft told Sherlock that he will send a message to him to let him know where he will send Irene Adler for safety. Sherlock just walked away from him and shook Irene Adler from his mind. 

A few months later, Irene Adler was again mentioned by John. According to him, Mycroft has spilled the news. Sherlock sensed that his brother gave John a false story about The Woman, seeing how hesitant he seemed at the moment to tell him the news. However, he also knows that Mycroft is smart and that the false story is actually the true story. That whatever Mycroft had John tell him works as reverse psychology. He almost smiled at Mycroft’s method of delivering him the information.

"She’s in America. Mmm-hmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er, well, you know." said John.

"I know what?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you won’t be able to see her again." 

"Why would I want to see her again?" Sherlock replied and biting his tongue as he did. John didn’t mention anything about wanting… 

"Didn’t say you did." John muttered, a smile creeping up his face.

"Is that her file?" Sherlock asked, noticing the bundle in John’s hand.

"Yes. I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft. Do you want to…?" John offered.

To show his indifference towards Irene Adler, he sat back down and continued looking into the microscope. “No.”

"Listen, actually …" John mused.

'Please take care of my heart' Irene had said. It was a puzzle, Sherlock thought. She was talking about the mobile phone. How silly of him to think otherwise. “Oh, but I will have the camera phone, though.” he told John.

He held out his hand towards John, not lifting his gaze from his work to not raise any suspicions from his friend. 

"There’s nothing on it any more. It’s been stripped." John announced.

"I know, but I …" Sherlock pondered on it. If Irene Adler and his paths cross again, he would like to give her mobile phone back to her as his salute. His… promise to her.

"I’ll still have it." Sherlock continued.

"I’ve gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can’t keep it. Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft. It’s the government’s now. I couldn’t even give …” John cried. 

"Please." Sherlock muttered. 

As John gave him the phone, he asked if Irene Adler ever texted him again after the mobile phone confrontation.

"What did she say?" John asked. 

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock replied. 

As John walked out, Sherlock crossed his room scrolling over his mobile phone and checks the stack of Irene Adler’s messages to him. As he recall that night in Karachi, he smiled at the thought, chuckled even, at the memory of her. 

Knowing that she is still alive, his mind burst with the thought of meeting her again to continue the charade they’re playing. A game of mind and emotions that he found enticing. 

He caught himself whispering to himself that she is indeed The Woman who made him think that sentiment is not at all dangerous if such wit is applied. He took one last look at her Vertu phone and locked it in his desk drawer, tucking away the memory of her to await their next meeting.


	2. An Unexpected Guest

A normal evening in Baker Street for most people is not at all advantageous for Sherlock Holmes. He was slumped on his chair wrapped in a bedsheet as he is every night whenever he is about to sleep, fingers itching to pull the trigger of his gun and hopelessly fighting the urge to shoot at the lazily painted face on the wall across him. Not that there’s any space left for more bullet holes.

John and Mary called earlier, reminding him not to burn his flat down. He told them he won’t, wanting his friends to enjoy their vacation in peace. And yet, with the boredom eating him from inside out making it hard for him to rest, he might just light something up. He is the type of person who sleeps better with a lot of things in mind rather than silence.

A soft thump broke his concentration, fully aware that something suddenly went out of the ordinary. The sound came from his bedroom and in that direction he crept silently. As he reached the doorframe, he pointed his gun at the intruder and was utterly surprised to see the intruder rummaging his closet.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes" he heard her say, turning as she probably have felt his presence. Her hair flows loosely on her head, her face flushed and yet regal. She was wearing a black dress, slightly covered with dirt and ripped at the edges. Her fingernails were chipped, for both her hands and feet, no Louboutin heels in sight.

"Ms. Adler, may I know your business with my closet?" he said, deadpan.

She laughed softly, touching his hand to put the gun down. “Sherlock, dear, I think it’s beyond you to ask such silly questions.”

He studied her, those playful lips smiling at him. The last time they saw each other, she had played him nicely… that silly puzzle about her heart.

"If you’re looking for your mobile phone, it’s not there." He mused, stepping away from her.

"So you figured it out. As expected." she replied, obviously amused. She remembered how she kissed his soft lips slightly, hinting a riddle to take care of her heart. His brilliant mind, she thought, caught the message by keeping her Vertu phone.

She smiled as he left the room, heading for his chair, near the fireplace. She was pleased that he didn’t drive her away, making her unconsciously hope that he does care for her. Looking down at her tattered clothes, she picked out one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns and shook off her dirty clothes, throwing them in the trash bin.

Sherlock, on the other hand, sat on his chair wondering what The Woman would possibly want from him. ‘He wants the phone, obviously. Is sentiment creeping up on you, brother?’ He heard mind-palace Mycroft tell him. Sherlock hissed.

"Do you have a towel? I haven’t showered in days." He heard her say, appearing in front of him in the same dressing gown she wore when she stayed here 2 years back.

She is beautiful, he can’t deny that, but is was her intelligence that made him get intrigued by her. He saw her raise her eyebrows at him, probably wondering why he was staring. “Mr. Holmes?” she said.

"Sit." she heard him say, his hand gesturing towards John’s old chair. She nodded, feeling the heat fill her face as she remembered the last time they were in this position, that day he took her pulse and revealed her heart’s hidden desire.

"Towel?" she asked again. He shook his head, staring at her intently. "What is it, now?" he asked.

Irene raised her eyebrows at him, pretending she didn’t understand. Of course he wants to know why she came. Judging by the look on his eyes, he already has an idea. Who wouldn’t? Her clothes were ripped, nails crusted with dirt.

"Someone’s after you… again. Why run here?" he asked, no emotion in his voice. "Oh you already know, don’t you? You are Sherlock Holmes, are you not?"

"The pho…" he was about to say but her laughter cut him off. "No, darling. That has no use to me anymore. Surely you know that it has been stripped under the orders of your brother."

"Then wha…. Ah! You need my help. Someone is after you."

She smiled, staring at him, drinking in the image. Sherlock Holmes seated in front of her, only a sheet covering his body. She could feel herself flush, her hand unconsciously clenching as she gripped a riding crop that wasn’t there.

"Are you wearing anything underneath that sheet, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, her tone full of desire. He looked confused for a moment, then looked down at himself suddenly aware of his lack of underclothes.

He stammered, cleared his throat and continued. Irene smirked.

"Ms. Adler, your business?" He asked again, his tone grave.

Irene went to Sherlock and sat on his lap, just to annoy the consulting detective and somehow, for her personal agenda. He was frozen in place, looking her directly in the eyes, his expression unreadable. She draped her arm over his shoulder and leaned close.

"Well, I believe you know that Jim Moriarty is back." she said, her voice barely a whisper. Noticing that Sherlock is still motionless, she continued, her breath prickling his neck. "Somehow, he found out about Karachi. He wants me dead."

"How can you be so sure it was him?" Sherlock replied, his voice slightly trembling, Irene feeling the vibration of his chest as he spoke. 

Irene laughed softly and Sherlock can feel that she was shaking… why? He doesn’t know. She was always so hard to figure out, he thought and he believed that she was clinging onto him not to annoy him but rather she needed comfort. He remembered her face when he unlocked her phone, beating her. For a moment she looked as vulnerable then as she was now.

Irene looked directly at the detective’s blue eyes and Sherlock was aware how her pupils are once again dilating. She leaned in close, planted a soft kiss on his cheek and stood up, heading towards the bedroom, only stopping to look back at him and smile.

She disappeared behind the door and he started to fix the couch he would sleep in.

In the middle of a deep sleep, Sherlock was awaken by a scream.

"Oh dear God! Fire!!!" he heard Irene Adler shout, coughing harshly.

Sherlock rushed to the bedroom, thinking that the people who wanted her dead had found her here in his flat. It was a very obvious option, he figured.“Ms. Adler… what…” he asked, breathing hitched from panic.

As he opened the door, there was nothing out of order maybe except of The Woman sitting calmly on his bed, smiling at him. “Funny how fire exposes our priorities, Mr. Holmes.” she mused, starting to snuggle one of Sherlock’s pillows.

"I don’t know what… Good night, Ms. Adler." Sherlock said, turning his back on her, slightly confused as to what happened. She had used the trick he had told her once before, not understanding what she was trying to get from him.

He heard her chuckle as he was about to leave. “Good night Mr. Holmes. And by the way, I was listening to your heart rate earlier. It elevated,” she muttered as she turned off the lamp on the bedside table.


	3. When Opposites Meet

One bright afternoon, along Baker Street walked Molly Hooper, a package in her arms. She stopped in front of apartment 221B, her fingers gripping the knocker slightly. A smile broke across her face as she saw Mrs. Hudson open the door, inviting her in.

"Hello dear. I rarely see you anymore." said the landlady.

"Been busy at the hospital lately. I just came to bring Sherlock some more eyeballs. He’s working on a new experiment, I think." Molly replied.

Mrs. Hudson looked at the package and shivered slightly, her eyebrows scrunching up. “Well, remind Sherlock not to put those in my fridge. I almost fainted the last time. Arm in the crisper. Tsk tsk.”

Molly smiled and nodded. She bid Mrs. Hudson goodbye, going up the stairs to the detective’s flat.

Letting out a deep breath and pinching her cheeks for a bit of color, she knocked at the door.

"Sherlock? Sherlock! I have the eyeballs you wanted me to bring." she called. After a couple of seconds, she knocked again.

Of course she was used to this. Sherlock wouldn’t even notice if someone set the flat on fire if he’s in a deep thought. She sighed, muttering to herself that she would just leave the package outside his door for him to find. As she was about to leave, someone opened the door.

"Oh… I…" she was about to greet him when she saw someone else standing in his place. Gray eyes stared at her intently, natural curls framed the other woman’s regal face. Clothed in a dressing gown that was obviously not hers for it was too long in length, Molly assumed that what the woman is wearing must be Sherlock’s.

"Hello. Sorry, I just got out of the shower… Would you like to come in?" the woman asked, opening the door a bit wider, inviting her in. A bit shocked, she just nodded, picking up the package as she went in.

As they entered the flat, Molly stared at the woman from behind, slightly envious of her elegance. Molly bit her lip, feeling self-conscious as she stared down her knit sweater, faded jeans and plain, canvas shoes.

"Oh dear, how very rude of me. I’m Irene Adler. Sherlock left early today, working on a new case, I believe." The woman, Ms. Adler, stretched out her hand and Molly shook it. Irene sat on Sherlock’s chair and smiled at Molly.

"Sit down." Irene offered, gesturing towards John’s old chair.

"I don’t… I mean… That’s John chair. Sherlock doesn’t let people sit there." Molly replied, shaking her head. Irene laughed.

"Well, he’s not here, isn’t he? Go on… Sit. Please keep me company." Irene requested.

Molly nodded, despite the fact that she was supposed to meet with Tom, her boyfriend. She can’t deny her curiosity, wondering who this woman is and who is she to Sherlock. Molly felt a pang of jealously and pushed the thought aside, thinking of her new boyfriend.

"I’m Molly Hooper. I… I’m a friend of Sherlock." she squeaked.

Irene Adler’s eyes lit up upon hearing the pathologist’s name. “I think I’ve heard your name before. Do you know the records keeper at St. Bart’s?”

Molly nodded, slightly confused. Then she remembered hearing Ms. Adler’s name a couple of years back when Sherlock called her in during Christmas. She could never forget how the detective recognized a corpse from not her face but for the rest of her naked body. It was the Christmas she bawled her eyes out crying because of hopelessness.

She looked up at Irene Adler, the other woman’s gray eyes studying her. Unable to resist, Molly said, “You were dead! I was there when Sherlock… confirmed your corpse. I… Hardly anyone could fool him.”

The woman laughed, eyebrows slightly raised as she took in Molly’s statement. “And tell me, how did Sherlock react when he thought I was dead?”

Molly can feel bile rising up her throat, her chest aching. “Well… He… Ummm… The face was all bashed up so he asked me if I can show him the rest of the body… Are you his girlfriend?” she asked, wanting to hit herself as soon as she asked. She lowered her eyes because of embarrassment.

"You and I know that Sherlock Holmes is not someone who’s into that kind of relationship." Irene Adler replied, her tone almost hopeful, or so Molly believed.

"He seemed heartbroken that night." Molly muttered, her voice barely a whisper.

"Is this love I see, Ms. Hooper? You are in love with Sherlock Holmes, am I right?" Irene asked, sincere curiosity filled her voice.

"No…I…I’m with someone else. Sherlock’s my friend and I… I just felt he turned very lonely that night." Molly replied, her eyes giving her true feelings away. Clearly anyone who can see her can figure as much.

To her surprise, Irene Adler smiled. It was a smile that Molly recognizes, a smile that stretches across her own face whenever she thinks of Sherlock Holmes.

"Don’t lie to yourself, Ms. Hooper. I, for one, tried to deny my heart of such honesty. And yet, Sherlock Holmes, being as clever as always, found out my heart’s desires and yet he chose to ignore it. And yet here I am, in his flat considering myself a guest just so I can get a reaction from him." Ms. Adler confessed.

"Why are you telling me this?" Molly asked, not quite sure where Irene was getting.

Irene looked at her intently, all traces of humor leaving the woman’s face. “I don’t usually open up to other people, for I am not a trusting person. But in this moment, I choose to trust you and I hope you keep this between us.”

Molly nodded and Irene Adler continued. “I am a woman driven by lust and passion and power… And yet I got intrigued by Sherlock Holmes in a way that I was never intrigued with anyone. As I can see, we are completely different and yet our heart shares the same…sentiment.” Irene smiled, as if thinking of an inside joke.

"You bring understanding and genuine care to Sherlock and I believe he can see that. Those qualities are some of the few things I am not particularly skilled at. Quite frankly, this is the first time I felt… jealous. But I do love a tough competition. What do you say, Ms. Hooper?”

As Irene offered her hand to Molly, the pathologist knows that if she took it, she would be betraying Tom… And yet, her heart commanded her arms to move and shake Ms. Adler’s hand.

Before leaving, Irene thanked Molly for the wonderful conversation. As she stepped out of the flat and headed towards that door, Molly called Tom on her mobile phone and told her she can’t meet him. For the first time in her life, Molly accepted that no matter how hard she tried, Sherlock will always be her eternal love. And with Ms. Adler’s challenge ringing in her ears, she took a deep breath, pinched her cheeks and looked forward to the next time she will meet with Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Inquisition About Janine

Sherlock enters 221B, his eyes tired and weary with all the arguing he did with Donovan. Good thing Lestrade is on his side. He let out a sigh, as he flicked his scarf off his neck.

Silence. Music to his ears.

"Somebody passed by earlier. Brought these." he heard someone say. He had almost forgotten that she was here. The Woman.

She was comfortably sat on his chair, her hair loose on her shoulders. He caught a scent in the air, not Irene Adler’s perfume, but someone else’s.

"Molly Hooper was very good company." she added, confirming his thoughts. He walked over to the fridge and saw a package full of eyeballs. He almost forgot about asking her and yet she remembered. She always remembered. He turned and saw Irene studying him.

"You didn’t…" he started, a bit worried about the pathologist. Irene Adler can be quite intimidating and her… habits are not something he believed Molly is used to.

Irene smiled, her eyes crinkling as she did. “Oh dear! No. She’s not my type. Or rather she’s not the type I would want to play with.”

Sherlock was relieved. He studied Irene at the distance they were in and he noticed the way her smile was pinched on the edges. She’s disturbed, he can tell and yet he can’t figure out why.

"She kept you company. What exactly did you do?" he inquired, bothered by Irene’s expression. After all this time he can’t think of an explanation as to how Irene can be so mysterious even if he has already deciphered her heart.

She stood up and moved to John’s chair, knowing that they can’t keep a conversation going if Sherlock isn’t seated. His eyes followed her movement and got the message.

"Well?" he pushed, sincerely curious. What could Irene and Molly, two very different women, talk about?

Irene curled up on the chair opposite to Sherlock and replied, “She’s in love with you, which I believe you are very well aware. Sentimental, that one. Holding on to you despite… all this.” She finished the sentence with a sloppy wave towards the detective.

"You’re the one to talk about sentiment, Ms. Adler." Sherlock replied, his voice deadpan.

She smiled, still forced he figured. “Oh dear you are always so cold. But I believe there is someone… Hmmm.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Ah! Augustus Magnussen’s assistant… Janine, was it?" Irene mused, her expression unreadable. Sherlock can only read from her tone that she’s been itching to ask him this question since she got here.

"It was for a case." He simply said, his gaze fixed on The Woman.

She smirked, shifting from a curl to sitting up straight, her body language indicating controlled annoyance.

"I’ve seen the headlines, though. Shag-A-Lot Holmes? Quite a disappointment since I was the one who asked first. She should’ve gotten in line." Irene said, a playful smile on her lips contrasting the cold look on her eyes.

For some reason, Sherlock felt embarrassed. He averted his eyes away from her from a moment but he managed to look back. “Nothing happened. I used her, she used me. The papers were lying.”

"I believe it was you who said that love is not a mystery. You seem to know it very well to call it destructive and yet you play with it. It’s like playing with fire, Mr. Holmes." Irene replied, her expression still cold.

At this point, Sherlock was clearly confused. Ms. Adler seemed angry and disappointed and yet he doesn’t know why. He saw her stand up and march towards his bedroom, probably to lock herself up.

Before she turned away from him completely, Irene glanced back at him and muttered, “You avoid sentiment, Mr. Holmes. And yet look at where we are now.”


	5. Remember When?

Sherlock Holmes cannot sleep. 

The Woman has not left the room ever since she stormed away from him earlier that day.

He stood up, almost jumping. He couldn’t bear not knowing the answers. He walked towards the bedroom door and banged on it.

"Ms. Adler. Open the door. I need to talk to you."

"Leave me alone, Mr. Holmes." he heard her say.

"Ms. Adler, you are upset. I can tell. As for the reason, I have absolutely no clue. You caught me off-guard again." he confessed, giving away a nervous laugh.

For a moment there was no answer. As he was about to knock again, Irene opened the door, her head down. He noticed that her eyes are swollen, he assumed from crying.

"I… Did I wake you?" he asked, thinking that The Woman doesn’t want to be asked if she was crying. However, he could recognize the way she looked whenever she’s upset from that time he deduced the code of her Vertu phone. She was crying then, as she is now, he thought.

"No." she replied, her voice slightly cracking. "I was… working on something."

"Oh… Sorry to interrupt. I’ll… probably best if I leave you to your business now." he muttered, unable to look at her directly. She looked so fragile, so unlike the strong woman who he got used to.

Irene nodded. She was about to shut the door when Sherlock turned back to her.

"Wait." he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes?" Irene replied.

"I apologize for whatever I did wrong. I truly do." he told her, meeting her eyes. Suddenly feeling embarrassed, he averted his eyes. "Erm… Good night, Ms. Adler."

He turned away from her but he felt her catch his arm.

"Mr. Holmes, I apologize as well. I don’t know what got into me earlier. Snapping at you like that. Can we talk in the living room or are you sleepy?" she asked, letting go of his arm.

He jerked his head to the side, inviting her to go with him. He sat on the couch and was surprised when Irene Adler sat beside him, her head leaning on his shoulder.

"Mr. Holmes, did anything happen between the you and Magnussen’s assistant?" she asked frankly.

A bit uncomfortable of their position, Sherlock tried to crane his neck to see her expression and yet the closest he got was the top of her head. She smelled like her perfume, Chopard’s Casmir, with a faint touch of smoke and tea, probably because she sleeps on his pillow.

"No. She just said all those things to earn money and to get back at me for using her into getting to Magnussen’s office. I told her I was saving it up for the wedding." he plainly stated.

Irene gave a soft laugh. “Really now? Conservative thing, are you?”

Sherlock caught himself laughing as well. “Ah! Ms. Adler. Speaking of Magnussen, when I woke up at the hospital after Mary shot me, there was a rose at my bedside table. I… I didn’t get the chance to say thank you.”

Irene stopped laughing and looked up at him. “You knew?”

"Well, you left a note. ‘W’ for The Woman. Plus, your perfume was lingering the air." he pointed out.

She leaned her head against him again and this time, he felt a little bit okay with it. 

"Why didn’t you wake me?" he asked, biting his tongue as he did. What did he want to get out from her? Stupid.

"You are lovely when asleep, Mr. Holmes. Remember when I tucked you in here as I brought back your coat?" she asked sleepily.

He smiled. “Yes, Ms. Adler. I remember. I also remember when you begged me for mercy.” He cannot forget that night. The way he beat her at their mind game.

She hit his abdomen lightly with her left hand. “Admit it. You liked seeing me beg.”

"And don’t forget Karachi. Priceless" he added, laughing silently. He could feel Irene shaking beside him, also laughing. 

They fell silent for a moment, both just staring into nothingness. 

"Ms. Adler… why were you crying earlier?" he whispered, not being able to help himself. No response. 

He leaned in closer to her, hearing a slight hum escaping her lips. She was already asleep. 

Feeling rude to wake her, he let her lean to him that night and at some point, he fell asleep as well, his head against hers, the smell of her hair lingering in the depths of his dreams.


	6. Conflicting Feelings

The soft rays of sunlight entered the windows of 221B, seeping in through Sherlock’s eyes. He opened them, almost hesitantly, trying to remember the dream he had that night. He never used to have dreams for he blocked them out, and yet, ever since he met Irene Adler, these wisps of the night suddenly creeps up to his consciousness, filling in his thoughts with the bloody shade of her lips and those haunting, grey eyes.

He shifted slightly, feeling her head still on his shoulder, even as the night turned to day. She was still here, not a dream, Sherlock thought. He moved her slowly, lifting her to his lap, her head resting on the crook of his neck, his arms caging her to him. From this angle, he could see her face.

Sherlock studied her, trying to memorise every detail of her face, the curve of her body, her scent. She would leave again, Sherlock thought, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was afraid of that time to come.

At that moment, he had a sudden urge to kiss her. He fidgeted at the thought, thinking of all the possible chemical reactions happening in his body, making him feel this way. Adrenaline, dopamine, seratonin, oxytocin, the animalistic instinct of human beings… His mind buzzed around all these chemicals, these scientific explanations as to why he was feeling this way towards Irene Adler. He brushed his thumb softly over her lips, feeling shivers run his spine as he did so.

Irene’s eyes fluttered, feeling his touch. She looked up at him sleepily, a smile creeping up her face.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes. Tell me, how did I end up here?" she murmured, nuzzling Sherlock’s neck.

"Good morning to you as well, Ms. Adler." he replied, keeping a straight face despite the urge to crush his lips to hers. He moved her to his side in one swift movement, Irene raising her eyebrows at him as he walked towards the kitchen.

"So… What shall we have for breakfast?" Irene asked.

"I—I don’t usually eat, as you’ve noticed. Digesting takes up energy, which is bad for brainwork. But since you’re here… Well, I guess I have to shop. Erm… Until when will you stay? Of course, I’m just asking to know how much food will I buy." Sherlock said, feeling like he needed to added the last part.

"Indefinitely." Irene simply replied, holding Sherlock’s gaze.

They remained silent for a while, Sherlock absentmindedly stirring his tea.

To break the silence, Irene jumped out of the couch and walked towards the bathroom. “I’ll come with you. Could you please be a dear and borrow some trousers for me? I think the landlady and I can fit the same size.”

Before Sherlock could respond, Irene closed the door behind her. He sighed and went to Mrs. Hudson’s flat.

"Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson!"

"What is it, Sherlock? Is this because I forgot to bring your tea?" Mrs. Hudson asked, surprised that Sherlock barged in on her.

"Erm… No… I was just wondering if I could borrow one of your trousers?" Sherlock muttered, almost to himself.

Mrs. Hudson stared at him, confusion across her face. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, as if a sudden realisation hit her.

"I knew it. There’s nothing wrong with it Sherlock, but still a pity you let John marry someone else. I mean Mary is lovely but I really hoped you and John will get—"

"Wha— I have a guest, Mrs. Hudson. And she needs clothes. She’ll be staying…for a while and if you have old clothes, something decent at least, then I need to borrow them." Sherlock explained impatiently.

"Oh! A… Woman? Yes. I think I have extra clothes here. I still kept my clothes back when I was still typing for Frank’s cartel." Mrs. Hudson scurried.

"I said, decent clothes, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock snapped. "She has enough revealing clothes and I wouldn’t want her walking around in them anymore."

Mrs. Hudson stopped searching her closet and looked at Sherlock smiling. “I want to meet her.”

"No." Sherlock replied firmly.

Mrs. Hudson frowned. “She’s got you tied up in a knot, Sherlock! I want to meet her. After all these years, I thought you and John… But this! Please?”

"No."

"No trousers then." Mrs. Hudson teased.

"She has no problem walking around naked." Sherlock replied without thinking.

Mrs. Hudson blushed, her hand to her mouth.

"She wears my clothes, Mrs. Hudson, however, it’ll catch people’s attention if she walked to the grocer wearing my dressing gown, that’s why I’m asking for trousers. Your brothel-poisoned mind is showing." Sherlock said flatly.

"I was just typing!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, taking out a medium sized box with clothes.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, taking the box from Mrs. Hudson and turning his back on her before she could even respond. He went back to his flat, letting out a sigh.

He walked over to his room, absentmindedly closing the door behind him. What was Mrs. Hudson fussing over?

"Are those my new clothes?" He heard Irene say, his throat drying at the sight of her.

She was wearing his purple shirt which reached half her thighs, showing her long, flawless legs. She was drying her dark and curly hair, droplets of water marking the shirt in places that made Sherlock’s eyes avert to her lips, which looked unnaturally rosy despite the fact that her face was bare.

"Enjoying yourself, are you, Mr. Holmes?" Irene said, walking towards him.

Sherlock placed the box on the floor. As he looked up, he met Irene’s legs in front of him and The Woman herself when he straightened up.

"What do you think? Does this colour suit me well?" Irene purred.

"It looks too big for you," Sherlock replied, deadpan.

"So you prefer it shorter?" Irene replied, lifting the hem of the shirt slightly.

Sherlock swallowed. “Just get dressed,” he muttered, turning away from her. Irene laughed.

"I was just teasing." Irene mused.

"Clearly." Sherlock hissed.

He could hear the soft sounds of the fabric and his heart pounding in his ears. A few moments later, Irene tapped his shoulder. He turned to look at her and he felt heat spread throughout his body. How could she look disturbingly beautiful despite the plainness?

'Admit it brother. It sparks the child in you when you see her in your clothes. Pathetic.' He heard Mind Palace Mycroft mock him.

"I’ll just go to the grocer alone." He spat, walking out on her.

"I thought I was coming with?" Irene asked after him, completely confused.

Sherlock shook his head. Everything seemed confusing now, his mind palace suddenly blank. All he could think about was her… the idea of her presence. She was distracting in so many different levels that he wanted her to go. But then again, he couldn’t bear the idea of her leaving. It was a toxic feeling and he wanted the time alone to think.

"I was just teasing earlier. Are you okay?" Irene breathed from behind him.

"I don’t want you to go." Sherlock whispered as he turned to face her.

"I’m not going anywhere." Irene replied, leaning towards him.

Sherlock could feel a lump forming in his throat, her scent lingering because of the proximity. He swallowed, realising what he just said.

"I… Erm… What I mean is that I don’t want you to go to the grocer with me. It’s not safe. Someone might see you." Sherlock said, his eyes searching her eyes for a sign of understanding.

"Oh." Irene replied, stepping back. She looked disappointed, turning away from him and heading for the couch.

As he headed for the door, putting on his coat, he glanced at her and sighed. “I won’t be gone long so don’t go anywhere, okay?”

He saw her smile, nodding at him. “Hurry back.”

Unable to help himself, he smiled at her and walked back to kiss her forehead, taking Irene by surprise. “You can have that shirt. It looks better on you than it does on me.”

And on that note he left, a giddy grin playing on both their lips.


	7. Curiosity Killed The Cat

Intimacy. There was too much.

Sherlock rushed outside the grocer, his head spinning. He bought food supplies, as intended, and yet the trip was utterly disorienting.

He never noticed couples before or rather dismissed the existence of them until Irene. Everything that reminds him of her suddenly came into focus. Earlier today the plan was to go to the grocer with her, but the sudden heat crawling through his body when he saw her wearing his clothes—all that sultry combination of purple and red and black—made him want to gasp for air. He wondered what she was doing now. Sherlock rolled his eyes at himself.

Distracting. That’s what she is.

While walking back to Baker Street, Sherlock breathed, reminded of what made him rush out of the grocer in the first place.

Both married and unmarried couples (all of course classified according to his deductions) were all over the place. Sherlock saw the affectionate glances the couples gave one another, the slight and passionate brushing of the arms, the shared laughs and smiles and, for the the first time in his life, he felt an empty pit in his stomach as he observed them all. There in his mind was regret that he left Irene in the flat. He wondered how it would feel like to come up behind her and brush his fingers on her arms as he asked her about her food preferences.

Silly, Sherlock thought—and yet the idea of whispering to Irene’s ears, just like what the other man did to his wife, compelled him.

Irene made him curious in all sorts of things. Research used to be his ultimate solution until she came along. She was hard to figure out.

As he approached 221B, he felt his fingers trembling. Slowly, he made his way to his flat, welcomed by the image of Irene Adler sitting on his chair with a book in hand.

She looked up when he entered, her grey eyes staring at him pointedly. “That was quicker than I had expected.” she commented, putting down the book and following Sherlock as the detective went straight to the kitchen.

As soon as he put down the bag, Sherlock saw Irene coming over to inspect what he bought. “So what’s for breakfast?”

Sherlock took a step away from her, studying The Woman. Mops of dark hair fell over the smooth planes of her cheeks as she went through the bag, taking out the eggs, tomatoes—but to his surprise she suddenly looked up at him, grey eyes staring at him intently.

"Something the matter, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock missed her question because of the pounding in his ears. His heart drummed loudly on his chest that it caused slight trembles to his shirt. He remembered the strict urge to kiss her earlier this morning.

He walked over to her, slowly, taking in her intense and questioning gaze. Irene’s eyebrows furrowed as Sherlock stopped, just a breath away from her, with his breathing hitched. Softly, Irene reached for Sherlock’s hand, turning it over as she placed her thumb on his wrist. She heard a soft groan escape Sherlock’s lips from the contact.

"What’s this, Mr. Holmes? Dilating pupils… Quickening pulse…" Irene whispered, feeling her own heart thrumming.

Curiosity killed the cat, brother…, he heard Mind Palace Mycroft hiss but Sherlock didn’t care. As always, he wondered why she was brought to his life—and why she came back now. I am a detective after all and I’m still very much alive, brother, he spat back internally.

His thumb started brushing Irene’s cheek, slowly making his way to her lips. His other hand started caressing her arm, just like how he saw the man in the grocer do it to his wife. He heard Irene gasp softly as he started to lean in to meet her lips.

"What are you doing?" Irene spoke against his lips.

"I don’t know, Ms. Adler." He breathed, meeting her lips once more. The kiss started out slowly, almost strategic, as Sherlock tried to feel in the sensations it was giving him. He had kissed women before—Janine being the recent—all purely for cases. This was the first time he actually wanted it and not just to get it over with.

Irene started to press her body to his, deepening the kiss, making both of them moan. Sherlock held the small of her back, her bum against the kitchen table. The Woman’s fingers started to run through the detective’s glorious curls, feeling the intensity of the clashing tongues and nipping teeth.

Sherlock’s hand made its way to Irene’s bare back from under the shirt, his hands running through the smooth skin along her spine. He felt her tremble under his touch, her back arching and her chest pressing closer to his. His tongue rolled over her lips, down to her jaw and Irene tugged softly on his hair, eyes half-closed. He could feel the curve of her body against him as his fingers slid over the clasp of her bra.

"Sherlock… I…"

Sherlock stopped at the sound of her voice, eyes dreamily looking at Irene. He saw her stormy eyes glistening with tears.

"Wh—why are you crying?" He asked. She was always a mystery to him, a puzzle he can’t decode.

Irene smiled weakly, steadying herself by leaning on Sherlock’s chest. “If you must know, I have never been with anyone this way. You wouldn’t want me if you knew my story.”

"Then tell me and I’ll want you even then." Sherlock said, surprised at his own response. He could sense her vulnerability as she tried to step away from him but he kept her caged within his arms. "I have never felt this way towards anyone."

"Not even with John?" Irene joked with tears in her eyes.

"I don’t understand what you mean…" Sherlock simply replied, still holding her close. Irene softly laughed.

Sherlock brushed her hair away from her cheeks and lifted up her chin, their eyes meeting. “Tell me.”

He saw the hesitation in her eyes and was willing to let it go. Sherlock was never one to give up especially if something piqued his curiosity, but the pain in Irene’s eyes was something he wouldn’t want to press on further. She was imperfectly perfect in his eyes—silently broken behind the brilliance just like he is.

He kissed her forehead gently. “You don’t have to. I am sorry I asked.”

Sherlock felt Irene’s hand on his chest, a sudden change in the way her eyes lit up.

"No. I—I want to tell you. Everything."


	8. Irene's Lament

He could hear her heart beating loudly in her chest. She was afraid.

But no matter what she feels, he wanted to reassure her that it wouldn’t change anything. She will always be The Woman.

"Dirty. That’s the first thing you should know." Irene Adler said as they sat side by side, their hands folded over each others’. "Of course, as a dominatrix you might think that that’s obvious. But it is far more… indelicate than my profession."

She looked up at him, almost searching for a sign of hesitation or dismissal. Sherlock simply nodded, asking her to go on. Irene breathed out and started again.

"My father died when I was 13 because of alcohol and drug abuse. He used to beat me and mum whenever he gets violent and all that. I was actually pleased when he passed but that’s when it all got nastier." She relayed, a sad smile on her face. Sherlock’s grip tightened on her hand. "You don’t have to…" he said. "I want to." she simply replied.

"When I was 16, my mum started dating the landlord of our new apartment. I thought he was really nice—very much unlike my real father—but miracles don’t really happen often. He started introducing other substances to my mother and everytime she’s intoxicated, he would come over to our place and… Well… He would do things to me." Irene said, her teeth gritting in anger.

"I resisted everytime but he was forceful, telling me that he would drug my mother so hard it would poison her if I don’t agree. I tried telling my mum to run away with me—tried to tell her about the abuse and everything wrong with our lives at the time. She never listened. Hit me even. That’s when I decided to escape.

When I was 17, I met a guy at the bookshop I was working for. He was gentle and sweet… And naive as I was, I fell for him. A few days after we began dating, I gave myself to him. I thought everything was perfect until he got me alone again and wanted—well—wanted sex again. I refused, thinking that he should know what had happened to me before. I believed he would understand but he didn’t. He told me that if I had done it so many times before then why would I refuse now?

I remember jamming his throat that night with my shoe. Never knew where the reflexes came from. I started lamenting my life—I wanted to end it. Upon learning about my mother’s death, I realised I needed to fight back. I do not wanna die like her and my father— helpless, lost… People have weaknesses. They would do anything for pleasure and desire. Lust makes them animals. By the time I was 20, I started making my way into the world. But no other man or woman touched me. I was the one who touched them—made them feel special. That’s the perk of being a dominatrix—I have control. People think that a dominatrix have casual sex from time to time. They do not understand that no intercourse happens. It’s all kinks and toys. I worked my way around people, using my disgust towards their lust as a will to dominate them in this dirty game they wanted to play.”

Irene felt Sherlock wipe away her tears. She didn’t even realise she was crying. He brushed a loose strand off her face and leaned his forehead to hers. “Do you want me to track those imbeciles down?” He asked her gravelly. “Or I could ask Mycroft to do it. Since he loves nosing around other people’s businesses after all.”

"You never ask your brother for help." Irene mused, studying Sherlock’s serious expression.

"There is a first time for everything." He simply replied, looking at her softly.

Irene touched the detective’s face. “Well? What can you say about this lovely morning story?”

Sherlock held her hand which was on his cheek. “I never thought you could be more beautiful and brilliant. I was wrong. You beat me again, Ms. Adler.”

Irene smiled and embraced him. Sherlock was always fascinated by the mystery that enveloped Irene Adler and now that he heard her story, he thought he would finally figure her out. And yet he felt her mysticism around him still. She was still barred, he thought, shielding herself up from the disdainful world. Her mind worked in such intricacy that he wondered how she came to a conclusion that instead of being weak, she used her pain to be her strength. She was a drug to him that fed his mind endless questions.

Slowly, Irene looked up at him and he felt the magnitude of his heart once more. She smiled a soft smile, one that seemed full of gratefulness and when their lips met, Sherlock could feel a burden lifting off both of them.

"So…" Irene whispered. "Where were we?"

Sherlock stared at her. “Are you sure?”

Irene nodded. “You had never taken advantage of me—ever. Funny… I never really thought a man would save me.”

Sherlock smiled, kissing Irene back. His lips was warm over hers, leaning her back on the couch. He slid his arm to the crook of her legs and scooped her up, their lips still together as he carried her over to his bedroom.

Slowly, he laid her down, his body over hers, moans escaping their lips as they explored each others bodies. Impatiently, Irene reached for the top button of Sherlock’s shirt and made her way to all of them. Sherlock arched his shoulders and let the shirt fall entirely to the floor, meeting Irene’s smiling eyes. He dipped back to kissing her, turning to unbuttoning her shirt as he kissed her neck, his lips trailing down as each button opens. He looked up and saw Irene’s head rolled back, eyes closed. He popped the button of her trousers and Irene looked at him, helping him slide it along her flawless legs.

Irene sat, pushing Sherlock down on the mattress and removed his trousers as well, both of them almost trembling as to what would happen next.

"Ms. Adl—I—Irene." Sherlock called.

Irene looked at him, as she slid off her already unclasped bra. “Y—you called me Irene. First time since we met.”

Sherlock sat as well, meeting her face to face. He kissed her forehead, then her eyes. “I just wanted you to know that this—this isn’t me just trying to—this isn’t just about lust or desire… I don’t want you thinkin—-”

Irene shushed him with a kiss. “I know. I wouldn’t have let you if it was.”

"I… I l—-," Sherlock wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know how she made her realise something. His emotions, his thoughts… He had seen this before. Watched it closely as he studied its dynamics. He looked at himself in the mirror and he bore the expressions John has when thinking about Mary.

"Don’t." Irene replied. "You said it was simple yet destructive, remember? And we are not simple. Destructive, maybe."

"Beyond it… Aren’t we?" Sherlock asked and Irene smiled.

"Beyond anything else."


	9. Of Circumstances and Time

Unimaginable.

Sherlock could not believe what has happened. He turned his head over to his side where Irene Alder slept soundlessly, her hand over his chest, the warm embrace they shared that morning still present.

2 in the afternoon he figured, judging by the way the sunlight flickered over the curtains and the sound of commotion along Baker Street. He smiled at the thought. Irene Adler would starve because of him. He was meant to prepare breakfast and step away—but of course love is a vicious motivator.

He could feel her breathing, her bare chest touching his rib. Flesh to flesh, he could feel the warmness and softness of her skin. The sensations of what they had done still tingled his senses. Every thrust and grip, every movement—fast or slow—was still fresh to his memory. He could feel the claw marks Irene left on his back, the blood in his lip where Irene bit him during their release… The way she smiled and told him that she considers what they did as her “real” first time…

This was a moment he never thought would’ve come.

Look what a few years had done. Earned a best friend, earned friends in retrospect, been a best man… And now, I have her. he thought, brushing a loose strand from Irene’s face.

Irene started to stir beside him, her grey eyes dreamily opening.

"Hi." she whispered, giving him a soft peck.

Sherlock smiled, tightening his arm around her waist. “I’m sorry. Too late for breakfast now. What would you like something to eat?”

To his surprise, Irene gave a girly giggle. “I wouldn’t care for another round of you.” She replied, biting Sherlock slightly on the shoulder.

"You should eat." Sherlock replied, a smile still plastered on his face.

"Says the man who barely eats…" Irene mused, kissing Sherlock once more. She straddled him, bodies pressing together, soft laughs escaping there lips. Sherlock started running his hands on Irene’s breasts, then stomach and Irene giggled once more. "Okay, fine. I think I’m hungry."

Sherlock rolled her over as he stepped out of the bed, grabbing his dressing gown on the floor. “Vegetable omelette?” He asked and Irene nodded, wrapping the sheet around her body as she followed him.

***  
“No case?” Irene asked as they sat in the kitchen.

"Nothing worth my time. Most are fives…" Sherlock replied, sipping tea.

Irene watched Sherlock as the detective reached for the newspaper and started reading. She could feel a pit in her stomach. She will leave him, eventually, and she shouldn’t pretend that this… the domesticity… this happiness that she was feeling would last. Circumstances would always be different for her and Sherlock—and yet she couldn’t quite get the courage to let all of this go just yet.

"What’s wrong?" She heard Sherlock say, snapping her out of her reverie.

Irene reached for his hand, gripping it tight as if it was the only thing assuring her that this moment was real. “I was just wondering if you found a new case on that paper.”

Sherlock raised his brows and she knew that could see right through her. But instead of saying whatever was on his mind, he stroked her arm and kissed her hand.

"I know that. Just tell me when it’s time." Sherlock simply said, confirming her thoughts. He must’ve been thinking about it as well, Irene figured. The separation. Would she be able to handle it? Would he? Of course they would—they’re stronger and more rational than most people. And yet at what cost? They both fell silent, eyes not quite meeting.

"Sherlock… We’re—what in the bloody hell is going on here?" Irene and Sherlock heard, almost jumping in surprise as they saw John and Mary by the doorframe.

Mary giggled. “Overreacting again, John.”

John scoffed. “I am not overreacting. You,” he spat, pointing at Irene, “you’re dead. And you,” he pointed at Sherlock, “you’re not wearing any pants, are you?”

Mary walked past her husband with a grin plastered on her face. “Hello, dear. Mary Watson.” she greeted, extending a hand to Irene.

"Irene Adler. Pleasure to meet you."

"Ohhhh! So you’re Irene. ‘The Woman’ in Sherlock’s life as John mentioned. I can say why he seemed jealous." Mary joked, nudging Sherlock.

"John, are you alright? You look like you’re choking." Sherlock said, deadpan.

John gave out a fake laugh. “Choking? Funny. Now explain this.”

"See? Jealous." Mary mused, exchanging grins with Irene.

"I saved her. Back in Karachi and now she’s temporarily living in Baker Street. I thought that was obvious enough." Sherlock simply replied as he continued to sip his tea.

"Don’t mind him. He’ll get over it." Mary told Sherlock. "So… This is what you’ve been up to."

Sherlock gave her a small smile. “Yes. Surprising I suppose.”

Mary clapped her hands. “No… Not really. This is actually lovely! Are we waiting for any announcements soon?”

John’s brows furrowed. “Announcements? These two? No… I don’t think so. Did you actually forget that she betrayed and drugged you?”

"Living in the past, still, John?" Irene replied.

"I am not talking to you. And please… What have you been doing? Almost 3 in the afternoon and both of you are barely dressed."

Mary laughed. “You are really iffy about this, aren’t you? Dear me. What did you do to him before?”

Irene smirked. “Get in the way of Sherlock and him being a couple.”

Sherlock glared at Irene. “Irene, stop. John looks like he’ll pop a nerve if you and Mary continued teasing him.”

John stomped his way to the couch and Mary went to sit by him. “We just stopped by to give you the invitation to Lizzy’s christening. Of course you can bring Irene too.” Mary said, handing them a pink invitation.

"Oh lovely! Where is the little girl?" Irene replied, smiling as Sherlock unconsciously placed his arm around her waist.

"With Mrs. Hudson." John hissed, still unnerved by the idea of Irene and Sherlock together.

"John, please." Sherlock muttered and John nodded. An understanding had passed between them despite the fact that John was still concerned for Sherlock’s safety.

"Human error…" John noted and both him and Sherlock sniggered. Mary and Irene stared at each other, confused. "Thank you." Sherlock replied.

As if on cue, Mrs. Hudson walked in on them carrying the baby. Her eyes widened at the sight of Irene, whose body was only covered by Sherlock’s sheet. “Ooooh…”

John eyes darted to Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock and back again. “You didn’t know Sherlock has a guest?”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. “Oh, I know but he wouldn’t let me see who it was… And then my ceiling under Sherlock’s bedroom was creaking earlier today and I figured…”

"Oh!" Mary exclaimed, laughing. Sherlock and Irene both blushed and John also broke into a grin.

"I better get dressed." Irene mused, smiling at all of them, more widely at Sherlock. Of course, he returned the smile affectionately.

Irene made her way into the bedroom and Sherlock watched her disappear behind the door.

"You got hit hard, Sherlock." Mary said, reaching for baby Lizzy.

"Are you going to marry her? I love weddings!" Mrs. Hudson added.

"She’ll leave eventually." Sherlock replied, his tone grim, making everyone’s expression turn sad.

"Then why is she here?" John asked sincerely, noting Sherlock’s somber expression.

"Refuge. We didn’t exactly plan…this."

"Oh Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson muttered. Everyone in the room felt Sherlock’s dilemma. There was a tenderness in the way he was looking at Irene from the moment John and Mary came to the point when Irene disappeared behind the bedroom door. Everyone, including the detective, suddenly felt how far-fetched this relationship really was.

The atmosphere was suddenly disturbed by the sound of shattering glass coming from Sherlock’s bedroom. “Irene…” They heard Sherlock say, his eyes suddenly in panic.

"Irene!" Sherlock called as he ran to his room. His heart was pounding on his chest, his senses blurring Mary, John and Mrs. Hudson’s attempt to follow after him.

As he burst the door open, his eyes darted from broken window to the bleeding form of Irene Adler.


	10. Holding On To Dear Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hello! This was supposed to be a one-shot thing but chapters happened! Welcome to chapter 10 peeps! enjoy...)

Blood. There was too much blood.

Sherlock was never the squeamish type-he loved being around crime scenes. The sound of the word "murder" alerts his senses like he was induced with drugs.

But the sight of someone her cared about lying in a pool of blood made his head light and his knees tremble...

Everything started to blur. The sight of the sheets tainted with blood made his head spin. "Irene..."

He pulled her over to his body, the soaked sheets clinging to her limp form. He felt her unsteady breathing, her eyes fluttering hazily, and he saw another trail of blood coming from her temple. She must have hit the bedpost when she took the impact of the gunshot. Sherlock found himself disoriented, almost brushing off John's voice.

"Sherlock? Sherlock! Mary called Lestrade and an ambulance..." John said, worry in his tone as he kneeled next to Sherlock.

The detective shot his friend a pleading look. "John, you save lives... You could always... Do something..."

"All I can do now is prevent blood loss..." John replied, his voice trembling as he tried to hold the sheet over the wound to prevent it from spouting more blood. "She will be okay, Sherlock. This is Irene Adler we're talking about."

They heard Mary's cracking voice from outside the room asking Mrs. Hudson to take baby Lizzy downstairs. The doctor's wife then came in, her eyes full of tears as a result of shock. "They will be hear soon, Sherlock." she tried to reassure the detective but failed in sounding like she meant it.

"I have to take her to the hospital now!" Sherlock exclaimed, carrying Irene's limp body, one of his hands putting pressure on the wound.

John seemed like he wanted to protest but Mary nodded and started to run to the door, her trembling hands fishing out keys from her coat pocket. "I'll start the car...help him with Irene, darling."

When they reached the hospital, Irene was almost as white as snow, her lips starting to turn blue. Too much blood was lost but the doctors said there was hope-very slim chances of saving her-but there was a sliver of hope.

Almost 4 hours since she disappeared behind the double-doors, a surgeon, a cardiologist and nurses rushing in with her. "You're crying." John muttered as he sat next to Sherlock in the operating room's waiting lounge.

Sherlock wiped his eyes, almost oblivious to the fact that he had tears in them. He couldn't breathe right, blood pumping in his ears, his thoughts never leaving Irene.

"Is that amusement in your tone, John?" He noted as he looked at his friend.

"I'm just surprised. You're also shaking... Violently, I might add." John replied, concern apparent in his voice. "I just never thought I'd see you look like a bloody mess."

"I've always been a mess and you are fully aware of that, I'm sure." Sherlock said, a sad smile on his lips which was returned by John.

"She's gonna be okay." John simply muttered and Sherlock nodded, considering the odds. He wanted to convince himself that John was right... If he survived when Mary shot him a few months back, Irene would survive too...

"You two... Erm... How long?" John mumbled, almost to himself.

"Almost a month. She needed a place to stay." Sherlock whispered back, his voice cracking. He wanted to be with her, holding her hand and somehow help her get through the pain.

"And you and her... Well... I've seen this coming anyway." John said as-a-matter-of-factly and Sherlock raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Known what?"

"That you... Er... You are in love with 'The Woman'", John explained, emphasising on the last two words. "Clearly, you have caught on just now, mate!"

Sherlock stared at his friend, trying to absorb what had just escaped John's lips. What did he mean by "have caught on just now"? Has everyone been speculating about this even way before his own acceptance?

"Don't look all confused, Sherlock." John said, clapping his back. "Why didn't you tell me you saved her? Damn you and Mycroft! He was in this, too, am I bloody right?"

"Being overly dramatic again. This is why." Sherlock replied, his nerves somehow calming. Despite John's strong opinions against Irene, Sherlock knew that the doctor understands him just as he understood him him before about Mary.

"You muttered her name in your sleep sometimes, you know. Whenever you fall asleep by the couch or your chair, I could hear you whispering her name." John announced, making Sherlock's face go red. He was unaware of this... All of the suppressing and the dismissing and still Irene has the ability to dominate his unconscious.

"Why are you so sure that I... That I love her?" Sherlock asked, almost shyly. He was never a believer of romance. He thinks that marriage is unnecessary-but Irene Adler always pops into his mind when such questions rise. 'Beyond everything' as they call what they have because it was true. It was more complex than love-it was a thirst for intelligence and mystery and danger and something that is more inexplicable than the idea of holding onto someone as if your life depended on it. They weren't invested in senseless tears and illogical behaviour... They were different.

"Because as someone who belongs to the selected few who you showed your true, kind and caring self... I know what it's like to be loved by Sherlock Holmes and I've seen you like that with Irene." John replied, scrunching his eyebrows. "That sounded awfully uncomfortable but you get the point."

"I don't understand why you despise her." Sherlock mused.

"I don't. I just wanted you both to admit that you two clearly have something going on. It's quite unnerving to see you both go around a psychopathic mind dance... Which somehow involves endangering the nation here and there..." John noted with a touch of humour and Sherlock smiled despite growing impatient. What happened to Irene?

"I needed to talk to a doctor now, John. What's taking it so long?" Sherlock hissed.

"She has been shot near her spine, Sherlock. They have to be careful or else it might paralyse her." John explained but Sherlock was uneasy. He walked over the double doors and was just about to rap them when the doctor came out.

"Mr. Holmes, you could see her now."

Everything was white. The walls, the bedsheets, the bed... It was all so different from the colours he had associated with Irene Adler.

Black makes her smooth skin stand out, bloody red lips almost seductive and dangerous-and then until recently, he found her alluring in purple; but now, in this pale room, she looked so fragile while unconscious.

Sherlock approached the bed, only the sound of his breathing and the beeping of the cardiac monitor disturbing the eerie silence. He held her hand, swearing to track down the person responsible for doing this to her. According to his conversation with Lestrade earlier over the phone, someone sniped Irene from across the street. They already searched the flat directly across Sherlock's bedroom but the gunman left no trail.

"They see but never observe! Imbeciles." Sherlock muttered under his breath, his heart beating fast, his nerves jittery. He could see from the way Irene softly breathes that every air intake feels like an arrow puncturing your lungs. His grip on her hand tightened, as if it could help her share the burden with him.

He brushed her cheeks softly, staring at her beautiful bare face. He never thought he deserved anyone in his life and yet somehow, Irene Adler felt just right. Just as broken and brilliant as he is, with a story of vulnerability that they were both afraid to let anyone know besides each other.

A flutter of excitement went through him when Irene stirred, but she kept her eyes closed. Sherlock sighed. He stared at her once more, noticing a piece of paper from under her pillow, which moved when Irene shifted her head. Sherlock's hand was trembling when he reached for it.

He carefully examined the folded paper but it looked nothing but ordinary. As he unfolded it, he was not surprised at the content, but anger boiled right inside of him because of the gesture.

'DID YOU LIKE WHAT I DID TO YOUR PRECIOUS IRENE? TOO BAD. I MISSED HER HEART. OR DID I?'


	11. A Sliver of Hope and A Wave of Fear

Fear. There was something about this emotion that Sherlock found intriguing. It was something self-induced, abstract and yet very telling. If one was to think about it, fear is something purely conceptualised by the mind. It was the association the brain makes between certain sensations and objects or situations that makes it exist.

And yet, fear is powerful enough to paralyse and destroy someone in all aspects possible.

Irene still lay on the hospital bed, at least 48 hours after the incident in Baker Street. Sherlock listened impatiently to the beeping of the heart rate monitor, the note he found feeling heavy in his coat pocket.

'DID YOU LIKE WHAT I DID TO YOUR PRECIOUS IRENE? TOO BAD. I MISSED HER HEART. OR DID I?'

Sherlock gritted his teeth in anger. This was different. He couldn't recognise the handwriting.

At first, his thoughts immediately directed to James Moriarty-but the handstrokes and the pen pressure was different on this one. He tried to mentally match the curves and points of the letters to the note Moriarty had slipped him back when he was pretending to be 'Jim from the IT'.

He was certain of its difference, but he wouldn't let the idea go. If not James, then who?

Of course he knew that Irene had a lot of enemies, but back in Karachi, he had helped her fix her 'death' and new identity (with a bit of Mycroft's help-but he wouldn't want to admit that out loud). Lucia Bennett suddenly existed and Mycroft made sure he reminded Sherlock of this favour with every chance he's got.

Sherlock almost resented Mycroft when he initially refused to hear about what happened to Irene, but after pinning him to the wall with his arm about to be broken (thankfully, John didn't came into the room), Mycroft agreed to 'help'.

The detective went back to the chair next to the bed, his hand automatically reaching for Irene's.

Without makeup, Sherlock could see the freckles on her face. He stared at them, memorising every detail, every plane, every spectacle. Her breathing seemed to be steadier than the previous day and Sherlock felt a slight air of relief.

Mary and John brought him a duffel bag with his clothes, knowing that even the British Army could not make him leave Irene's side. He smiled at the thought, considering how understanding everyone was of the situation. They all seemed surprised, though, Sherlock had noticed.

When Lestrade visited him the previous night, the detective inspector kept on muttering 'You and her...? Erm... I just... Wow...' which made him immensely annoyed. But deep inside him, he knew that Lestrade would help. (Was it Gavin or Gordon?) has always helped him.

Molly also passed by earlier the day, assuring him that if he ever needed anything, she would help.

"She's very lovely, Sherlock. I remember that conversation we had one time when you were gone.. And... Irene is very special." Molly told him [A/N: Part Three of this fic ^^].

Sherlock looked up at the pathologist, knowing how he had dismissed her all this time. At that moment he resented himself. "Molly... I know that I have been rude and-"

He stopped midsentence when he saw Molly laugh softly. "Oh Sherlock! If... Oh dear. I know. You don't have to apologise. I... I found someone. Not a psychopath-or a high functioning sociopath," Sherlock smiled at this, "He's a good man... Not that you're not good and erm.. You will always be special to me, Sherlock. But I am happy now. I truly am."

Sherlock gave Molly a kiss on the cheek and a very awkward hug. Again, as he said in John's wedding, he can be rude, mean and insensitive... To have these people come to his support was something he couldn't comprehend and yet he was grateful.

Snapping him out of his reverie was Irene's soft whimper. He saw her fidget slightly, her eyes fluttering open.

"Sherlock?" she mused, her voice soft and cracking.

The detective stood from his seat and leaned to her closer. "How are you feeling?"

Irene gave him a weak smile. "Well... I'm fine considering the fact that I'm in a hospital bed with these needles attached to my arteries and these bandages wrapped around my head and body."

Sherlock smiled back. "Are you hungry?"

"Asking me to dinner, Mr. Holmes?" Irene quipped.

Unable to help himself, Sherlock kissed her softly. "Ever the charmer, Ms. Adler."

Irene tried to sit up but she started to writhed in pain at the effort. Sherlock helped her set her back on the bed once more.

"Just rest." he told her.

He took out his phone and texted John, telling him that Irene was already awake. John replied immediately, telling him that he and Mary would rush off to the hospital right away.

When he told Irene this, she smiled widely. "And I thought John hated me." she joked, holding his hand.

"He had reasons why he acted why he acted. He told me." Sherlock replied.

"Jealousy, most likely." Irene said, laughing softly and regretted it. Pain shot up her ribs at the action.

He told her of the things that had happened when she was asleep, ranting mostly about how Lestrade seemed so surprised.

"Even Anderson came... I can see he fancied you even while you were in that state. The fumbling fingers and beads of sweat on his forehead can tell as much." he hissed and Irene tried not to laugh once more.

"Anderson?" Irene asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just some non-believer turned obsessed fan." he replied. Irene wanted to ask him what he meant but his expression told her not to.

Almost 2 hours had passed and still no sign of John and Mary. Irene's brows furrowed, "Sherlock, dear, why don't you call them? I... I have a bad feeling about this."

Irene's worry made Sherlock wonder. He did as he was told, only to reach the last ring. No answer. Texting his friend, Sherlock felt Irene's hand trembling on his.

A few moments later, his phone beeped. A text from John, finally.

As he read the message open, Sherlock almost grew cold in shock and Irene's eyes grew wide in horror.

'HAD A LITTLE ACCIDENT ARRANGED FOR MR. AND MRS. WATSON. DON'T WORRY, I'LL TAKE CARE OF THEM PERSONALLY. WHO'S NEXT, SHERLOCK? CARE TO GUESS?'


	12. False Trails

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Time slowed down. Everything suddenly seemed like a threat.

Another text came.

'WHO WILL YOU CHOOSE? YOUR BEST FRIEND OR YOUR LOVER?'

Sherlock almost dropped his mobile. "Go for help. I can handle myself." He heard Irene say.

He looked at her, fear evident in her eyes, but she understood his dilemma. John and Mary are in danger. He should leave her and find out what happened to them.

Sherlock tried to calm his nerves, his fingers fumbling over his phone as he called his brother.

"Mycroft, can you find out the John's location by using his mobile signal?"

Mycroft groaned. "That would be illegal."

"You do it all the time. The one who attacked Irene contacted me through John's phone. This may be the best way to track him down!" Sherlock hissed.

"I'll see what I can do." He heard Mycroft say. As he was about to put down the phone, he heard him call, "Wait, Sherlock! I warned you... Bringing Irene Adler into your life again will cause danger. I hope you don't regret it."

Sherlock almost threw the phone across the room if Irene hadn't stopped him. "I'll be fine. Just go and find them."

He saw the defeat in her eyes and he was sure that she believed that if comes down to John and herself, Sherlock would choose his bestfriend. The detective felt torn-he would never choose. Never.

But that is not applicable in the moment.

Taking out a gun from his pocket, he handed it to Irene.

"I nicked this from Lestrade yesterday. I won't be long." He said, voice cracking. Irene nodded catching Sherlock's arm as he stood to head out the door.

Irene pulled him down and he understood. He leaned in to meet her lips for a temporary goodbye.

This is what this is. A temporary goodbye.

He headed out the door, dialling Lestrade. He told him of the situation and the detective inspector told him he would check if any road accidents were reported in the last couple of hours.

Beep. Another text.

THE WATSONS MISS THEIR BABY. I SHOULD GO AND GET HER, TOO, DON'T YOU THINK?

Sherlock's eyes scanned the area, trying to figure if someone was watching him. His hands trembled as he hailed a cab, heading to 221B. If Mary and John were to leave the house to go to the hospital, they would leave Lizzy to Mrs. Hudson.

His mind reeled. This is definitely Moriarty. Of course the consulting criminal would want a grand welcome back.

Irene's face flashed in his mind, the terror he felt when he saw her lying in a pool of blood came rushing back. Was it the right choice to leave Irene alone? This is what Moriarty wanted-to confuse him. To make him choose between the man who saved him and the woman he loved.

Moriarty was playing the most dangerous card of all... The card that made Sherlock jump from St. Bart's a couple of years ago.

The Ace that endangers the people he love to make him his puppet.

Sherlock almost jumped out of the cab as 221B came into view. Shoving the bills hastily to the cabbie's hand, the detective burst the door open, shouting Mrs. Hudson's name.

He scanned the area. The door to Mrs. Hudson's flat was forced open and he found the landlady lying unconscious on the floor with a note on her hand.

SHE'S NOT DEAD, SHERLOCK. AND THE LOVELY TODDLER ISN'T HERE. TRY AGAIN.

Sherlock carried Mrs. Hudson to her bedroom and check the landlady's breathing. Steady. Good. She will be okay.

He could feel his pulse pounding heavily in his chest, his mind straining to make sense of what was happening.

Hailing another cab, he was determined to head over John and Mary's flat.

Dialling Irene's number, Sherlock wanted to assure she was okay. The only thing keeping him steady at the moment was the thought of Irene, of how strong and smart she was. She could handle herself, Sherlock told himself.

iIs this what you want for her, brother? You and Irene Adler spell 'DANGER' when you are together./i he heard Mycroft's voice inside his head.

Sherlock almost screamed in anguish. He could feel his palms warming, eyes blurring-all sensations burning inside him. His heart quivered over the idea that two years of dismantling Moriarty's network was all worth nothing.

As John and Mary's car came into view, he saw John's legs peering from under the vehicle-lifeless.

"Stop here!" He ordered the cabbie, handing the fare. In panic, he immediately knelt next to where John's legs are showing, his eyes darting the place for Mary.

Reaching out and shaking his friend's leg, Sherlock heard his voice crack. "John? John!"

So this must've been the grief John had felt before. He understood the anger. A tear rushed down his cheek, then another after another.

He shut his eyes, his head whirring, not noticing the movement from under his hand.

"Sherlock? What happened?"

The detective blinked, seeing John with grease stains all over his face and jumper with a wrench at hand.

John reached out to touch his friend's shoulder, worry all over the doctor's face. "Sherlock?"

"Wh-where's Mary?" Sherlock asked, trembling.

John's eyebrows furrowed. "Inside... With Lizzy. What's going on, Sherlock?"

"I thought you were on your way to the hospital?"

John nodded. "We were. But this bloody car suddenly won't start! Somebody messed it up and- Sherlock, what happened!"

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders, somehow shaking the doctor. "Your phone? Where's your phone?"

John started feeling through his pockets, shaking his head. "I'm sure I have it here... Somewhere..."

Sherlock's eyes were filled with alarm. "Someone bumped into you today. That crease on your collar, stain on you shoe... Your phone was on your right pocket. It was stolen."

"Sherlock, what the hell is going on?" John exclaimed, nodding at Sherlock's every word.

Beep.

Sherlock's hands shakily took out his phone at the sound of the message.

WRONG MOVE, MR. HOLMES. WRONG MOVE.

"Irene..." Sherlock whispered. "I have to get back to the hospital."

Mary came out the door with Lizzy in her arms, her eyes suddenly filled with confusion as her eyes trailed from John to Sherlock. "I heard shouting. What's going on?"

The voices of Mary and John faded in the background as Sherlock started to run to the highway, frantically waving his hands to get a cab. He impatiently dialled Irene's number, swearing at every ring that passes without her answer.

He felt a shooting pain in his chest, his breathing hitched. Remembering the time when he believed Irene Adler was dead on a slab, his eyes started to sting. He dialled and redialled but there was no answer. His fingers moved around the mobile, tapping Mycroft's number.

"I couldn't trace the signal anywhere, Sherlock. Even our satellites are not working properly." He heard Mycroft say from the other line.

Sherlock gripped his phone, fighting the urge to throw it because of frustration. His hands tapped wildly on his sides, cursing. He should've asked for John's gun. Stupid! Stupid!

He almost jumped at the sound of his phone ringing. Lestrade.

"Sherlock, where are you?! There has been a shooting in the hospital. People are being evacuated!" He heard the detective inspector's voice exclaim.

"Irene! Where's Irene?!" Sherlock shouted.

"She's not here, Sherlock. I think she escaped. The gunfires were shot from her room." Lestrade relayed nervously.

Sherlock pressed a finger on his temple. "Search her room for clues! Anything! Just..."

"I got it, Sherlock. I'll do everything I can." Lestrade replied, worry and assurance evident on the inspector's voice.

Sherlock ended the call, his palms pressing his eye sockets. Irene is not okay. Her wounds might bleed out any second and... He could not imagine what would happen if he loses her. Not again.

Another ring. From John's phone.

"Moriarty." Sherlock answered, his tone grave.

"Oh... No, no... You really thought it was James. What a pity." replied the voice on the other line.

Sherlock froze. He could not believe what he was hearing.

"You... You died." Sherlock replied, the hair on his neck standing.

"I am very... very much alive. My hatred for you and Mycroft made sure of that. If you wanna see your precious Irene, find me at my usual spot. You know me... I'm a bit sentimental." the person on the other line hissed and Sherlock could almost hear him smiling. The person on the other line left no time for the detective to respond. Sherlock found himself listening as the call ended.

Sherlock almost choked when he talked to the driver. "Change route. Head to Brixton."


	13. Long Lost

**24 Years Ago**

"Goodness, m'boy! Another call from the headmaster. What is it this time, Sherlock?" Asked Mr. Holmes.

The youngest of the Holmes' boys averted his eyes from his father to the window. Does calling someone an imbecile when it is absolutely the truth even punishable? The school should even give him an honesty award, Sherlock thought.

Mycroft scoffed from across the dining table, sipping his tea. "Another infraction and they might just kick you out. Shame!" he spat.

"Now, now Mike. Maybe you should spend some time with your brother, bring him to those mock conferences you have. Mrs. Fleming mentioned that Bill once brought young Gilly once." Mrs. Holmes mused, ignoring Mycroft's eyeroll.

"And be like one of those pretentiously righteous pricks that Mycroft calls his 'mates'? I'd rather die right now." Sherlock hissed.

Mycroft offered him a bitter smile. "Mummy, you should send this brat with the 'other'. They get along just fine."

Their parents grew silent at the comment and Mycroft simply shrugged. Sherlock's eyes darted to the empty chair at the end of the table. The food suddenly tasted bitter against his tongue and the wind suddenly seemed thicker. He shot Mycroft a cold look before his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

**Present Time**

Sherlock's heart raced as the cab journeyed to Brixton. He unlocked his phone and went to Photos.

He was never a fan of photos or anything that reminds him of sentimental attachment towards objects. He was a firm believer that when someone captures a moment through camera lenses or any other devices, the idea of 'now' becomes lost. The only beauty of documenting is that the human memory is not accurate. There are fabrications.

However, he found it amusing to take photos of Irene Adler-whenever she's asleep, not looking, reading... Ever since they parted in Karachi, no one dared to mention her name and he had an absolute urge to remind himself that she was real.

Both of them knew that she was leaving at some point and to see fragments of her in Baker Street was something Sherlock hated to admit that he wanted.

If his conclusion was true, then Irene might really be in danger. When he heard the voice on the other line, he felt shivers in his spine knowing what that person is capable of.

Sherlock's phone rang again and Mary's name flashed on the screen.

"Sherlock? What happened?" He heard John's frantic voice on the other line.

"I'm on my way to Brixton. Someone... Someone took Irene." He replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Is he alright, John?" He heard Mary's voice from the background. "Well, you heard her." John mused.

"Yes. Stay inside and keep your gun at hand." Sherlock advised.

"Where are you now? I'll phone Lestrade and we can meet you there." John offered, voice cracking.

Sherlock shook his head despite knowing that it was beyond the doctor's view. "Just stay with Mary and Elizabeth. Stay safe, John. I'll be fine. Keep the doors locked."

Shutting down John's protests, he ended the call and started dialling Mycroft's number.

"I told you, there's nothing I could do." Mycroft said as soon as the ringing ended, making Sherlock scowl.

"It wasn't Moriarty." Sherlock replied grimly. "I'm headed to Brixton right now. He identified himself."

"No. It can't be." Mycroft gasped.

"You told me he was dead." Sherlock hissed.

"I confirmed it myself. His face was all bashed up but I'm sure it was him. DNA records and all." Mycroft replied defiantly.

Sherlock sighed, remembering that Irene also got away with the same trick a couple of years ago. "I suggest you think of an explanation about who's ashes rest in that urn at..."

"I'm sure it was him, Sherlock!" Mycroft bellowed, cutting him off.

"Then what is this? Another trick? I don't think so. I heard his voice, Mycroft. I'm sure it was him." Sherlock replied, his head buzzing.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Mycroft simply replied as he ended the call.

"Turn here." Sherlock told the cabbie and he felt the nostalgia creep in as they approached a familiar line of the road.

Back when he was 14, he knew this place like the back of his hand. The dingy bakery at the middle of the street was long closed, he figured and the dusty old bookstore was now a carpet store. The place seemed tamer than it used to be but the memories of the place was still fresh to Sherlock's mind.

"Stop here." Sherlock muttered as he handed some bills to the cabbie. As he felt the wet pavement beneath his leather shoes, he found himself looking up at the old flat in front of him.

164A, it read.

Sherlock opened the door and knew exactly where to go next. He climbed the stairs hastily to the third floor and burst open the first door he sees.

He found Irene Adler lying unconscious on a makeshift bed made from planks of wood and a thick carpet. Her hospital gown was partially tainted with bloodstains, the bandage on her head somehow skewed. Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her gently.

"Irene... Irene wake up." Sherlock pleaded, his eyes stung with worry.

Irene's eyes slowly fluttered open, her expression dazed like she was having a difficult time focusing on Sherlock. "Y-you're here..."

"I'm going to get you out of here." Sherlock told her fervently as he started scooping her up to his arms.

"No, you won't." Sherlock heard someone say. He laid Irene back to the makeshift bed as gently as possible, maintaining a protective crouch beside her as he turned to face their captor.

Leaning lazily on the door frame was a man about 4-5 years older than Sherlock, with thick black hair falling over his cold blue eyes. His thin lips was curled to a smile bordering wickedness and insanity, his shabby dark overcoat highlighting his pale skin. The man's long fingers curled over a GP 35.

Sherlock stood between the man and Irene in a defiant stance, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" the man retorted with a malevolent smile, "Didn't you miss your brother?"


	14. Pseudonym

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was extremely delighted to write this part because of the 'darkness' of the way it was written. Someone asked the last time about who I pictured playing the other Holmes brother and honestly, Tom Hiddleston's Loki was my inspiration for this particular fic. Hope you enjoy and tell me what you think!

"What is that?" Irene asked, looking at him from under her lashes.

"What is what?" Sherlock asked back, not looking away from his microscope. He could see her from his periphery, her long legs trailing just below the hem of her shirt-or rather a shirt that she 'borrowed' from his closet.

Irene leaned in closer to him, trying to make out of what he was studying. She smelled faintly of his soap, her soft curls brushing up his shoulder. Sherlock could feel his spine tingle at her proximity. "Is this what you usually do all day?" He heard her inquire.

"Yes." He simply replied, avoiding to turn to face her while she was quite near. A couple of years ago, he was somehow unfazed by Irene Adler's presence-or rather he had quite a strong control back then. However, a few years apart from her somehow made him vulnerable to whatever she is doing. Maybe it was because she left him with so many questions left unanswered, so many mysteries at hand and she pranced into his life once more without warning.

He felt her turn her back on him and walked her way to the window by the desk. Sweeping the curtain off the view towards the street, Irene leaned by the wall and gazed outside, seemingly lost in thought. Sherlock turned his attention to her and noticed how the sunlight seemed to make her glow. She wasn't wearing any makeup and Sherlock felt somehow pleased at that. A small smile broke on his face but he wiped it off immediately. Why was he smiling?

From the distance, he could see that Irene's eyes looked tired and somehow sad. He was sure that the threat of Moriarty burdened her still. Slowly, he found himself walking towards her, his hand landing on her shoulder.

"Anything bothering you, Ms. Adler?" He asked and she met his eyes. At that moment, Sherlock felt heat rise up his neck and he shuddered. Irene gave him a weak smile and shook her head.

"Why, Mr. Holmes? Are you worried about me?" She quipped, her tone seemingly joking but with the slightest hint of hope that he actually was worried.

At that moment, Sherlock knew that there was something in her that was drawing him close. It was something he avoided and yet had found its way into his attention.

It was the moment he knew that he wouldn't want Irene Adler to leave his side.

"Sherrinford." Sherlock acknowledged, meeting the steely gaze of his long lost brother. Sherriford grinned wider.

"What kind of name is Sherrinford anyway? You and Mycroft got the better end." his brother replied, twirling the gun.

Sherlock felt Irene struggle to sit upright. He reached for her and helped her up, knowing that she doesn't like being treated as a damsel in distress. "So this rat is your brother? Shame." Irene spat as she gripped Sherlock's arm for support.

Sherrinford mockingly shook his head. "If you think you could slither your way into me like you did with my brothers, you are wrong Irene Adler."

Sherlock's stance somehow shielded Irene. He studied his brother, figuring that Sherrinford might not be living in a rat hole all these years. The other Holmes had polished shoes and a well tailored coat, something that could be bought in Manchester, the paleness of his brother's skin shows less exposure to sunlight so probably he owns a car whenever he travels. Sherrinford may be lanky but he doesn't have circles in his eyes and looks well fed.

"Oh don't bother, brother. I would tell you the entire story as we wait for noble Mycroft to join us." Sherrinford placed the gun in the holster on his belt and walked towards the tattered couch by the side of the door. "Please, sit." He offered, still smiling eerily.

"I know you want me and Mycroft. I'm here, aren't I? So let Ms. Adler go." Sherlock said, his tone clipped and measured. He felt Irene shook her head.

Sherrinford laughed. "She doesn't want to go without you. How sweet. You know, she's here for Jim, not me. I got my end of the deal."

"You're like two boys playing. How mature." Irene hissed and Sherlock could feel the strain in her voice.

"Why did you come back? You were dead." Sherlock inquired, his arm tightening around Irene.

Sherrinford clapped his hands and gestured to the makeshift bed. "Sit. It's a very long story."

"How about we just leave?" Irene replied viciously.

The other Holmes rolled his eyes. "Do you think it's that easy, dear Irene? Of course there's a catch. Leave and there will be multiple explosions around London. One with the touch of triple Watsons, one in the famous threshold in Baker Street and... Well, Scotland Yard and St. Bart's could use some redecorations. Also, that little haven of Mummy and Daddy could use some refurbishment. Painting London red... Lovely, isn't it?" At that moment, Sherrinford pulled out a remote-the bomb trigger. "Now sit."

At the threat, Sherlock and Irene followed the order. Sherrinford clicked his tongue. "Look at you two. Adorable. You move like a couple."

"So you're Jim's new puppet? Lovely." Irene muttered and despite the situation, Sherlock smiled. He admired her spirit and courage. The detective was somehow grateful they were in this together-even if it means shedding light on the horrid past of his family.

"Puppet? Oh, don't think we're alike, dear Irene." Sherrinford spat.

"You were sent to juvenile detention and fell from a flight of stairs due to a fight. Bashed face, broken cranium-Mycroft confirmed the corpse." Sherlock stated, his tone impatient. What was Sherrinford getting on about?

"Do you think I would go that easy?" Sherrinford dramatically shook his head. "I thought we were closer than that Sherlock. I thought you knew me soooo well. i planned everything. Planned my escape. Of course, I had help. Geniuses need help too, you know."

Sherlock could feel Irene squirm at his side, pain evident in her face. Her forehead was beaded with sweat but she shook her head slightly, signalling that Sherlock need not to worry. He gripped her hand and she did the same, both of them trying to get a sense of reassurance that there was something they could do. Not now, but later.

"Are you listening to me? I NEED YOU TO LISTEN!" Sherrinford bursted, his face contorted in anger as he noticed them. At a flicker of a moment, he regained his cool demeanour, a crazy smile again surfaced on his face. "Where was I? Yes... Well. I'm getting to the good part."

He pulled put his gun and shot floor just between where Sherlock and Irene's feet were planted. "Just reminding you that I'm a good shot so you better listen. Anyway, so there I was, seventeen years of young flesh wandering Brixton like any young lad would. My beloved flat, as you can see..." He gestured largely at the disheveled flat they are in, "...was my haven."

Sherlock crunched his eyebrows. "Mycroft, as much as I hate to sound like praising him, sent you to juvenile detention to save your life. Seventeen and you have people wanting your head for gambling debts and other debts to suffice your drug addiction."

"I was having the time of my life. I was getting by just fine!" Sherrinford spat. "When I was driven away from home, I got to live a life away from all of you."

"No one drove you away, you ran." Sherlock simply stated.

Sherrinford's face contorted into a crazy dazed smile. He walked over to Sherlock and Irene with his gun pointed at them. "I. Told. You. No. Interrupting."

"It's quite boring so you might want to pick up the pace." Irene mused and Sherlock tried to stop himself from smiling again. With a gun on their faces, Irene still managed to spite his brother.

"Oh I am getting to the highlight of the story. Mycroft thought that by sending me to that prison, I'm headed to a better life. Do you know what they do to us there? Do you?!" Sherrinford shouted, slumping back to his chair.

A small smile cracked on his face as he paused. "The only great thing that had happened to me there was meeting James Moriarty."

Sherlock and Irene shared the same surprise and the detective felt Irene shiver at the sound of Jim's name.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, now completely confused.

"Got you interested now, have I? Well... Well... Jim is gonna be pleased." Sherrinford grinned menacingly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his eyes. "You see, I was full of distraught about how Mycroft was the perfect child and you...despite all the trouble you've caused, Mum and Dad always seemed to understand your-pecularities. I was always the neglected one. They were always so hard on me. I was never good enough to live up to Mycroft, never as smart as you to be forgiven of my antics." He glared at Sherlock and Irene with a cold look that was almost murderous.

"Who do you think tipped James that such a genius like you existed? Who do you think told him that there was another person aside from him who will enjoy the thrilling chase of death?" Sherrinford hissed as his cold stare pierced through Sherlock.

"You see, inside that prison we became allies-planning and planning about how to go back to the outside and show people who we were. James was sent there because he slit the throat of his roommates in the orphanage he was in at the age of 13. He told me they were stupid to talk to and was doing everyone a favour by not letting anyone else divulge in their nonsense conversations and idiotic existence. Back then... He was still known as Richard Brook." Sherrinford explained in a chilling tone.

"That's why nobody knew James Moriarty. He never existed. It was all an illusion." Irene muttered almost to herself.

Sherrinford shook his head and laughed softly. "No. James Moriarty existed the day we vowed to get what is rightfully ours. We made our escape and went our separate ways... But not before assuming our new identities. Stronger. More defined. Leaving our weak and disheveled juvenile delinquent selves in the broken bodies we planted to take our old identities."

"It was the day that James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran was born."


	15. One Last Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In reference to the first part of this chapter, I would like you to view this photo manip that I did: throughtheparadox.tumblr.com/102179746268/dont-die-on-me-mr-holmes-you-still-owe-me and the Sherlock Deleted Scene which you could watch here: throughtheparadox.tumblr.com/post/101574739848/his-last-vow-deleted-scene-omg-how-come-i-saw)

_Everything was a blur._

_Pain shot up his lungs when Sherlock tried to move. He was still in disbelief that Mary... Mary Elizabeth Morstan-well, Watson now, has shot him. He was bewildered, his mind immediately fleeting to the countless possibilities of what Charles Augustus Magnussen may have done to threaten her, which resulted to her attempt at revenge._

_He flinched at the sound of the door clicking, his eyes unable to focus on the person who entered. Sherlock tried his best by squinting, noticing that his visitor seemed to be tense and cautious._

_From the mop of black, he could spot something that stood out from the person's hand. Something that reminded him of..._

_The person moved to the table by the window and he couldn't make out of what the person was doing. If he could shake his head in disbelief, he would've. But the pain was too much and he almost felt paralysed._

_His visitor walked over the side of his bed and he caught a faint but familiar scent. Taking off the hat off the top of her head, loose curls fell over the face of none other than Irene Adler._

_Sherlock wanted to open his eyes entirely to look at her, to ask her of her business but he wanted to curse himself for choosing this time to be a paralytic. He felt her hand brush over his forehead very softly and he could still see her red lips curl into a friendly smile._

_"Getting yourself into trouble, Mr. Holmes? Some things never change." she said, almost a whisper. He couldn't see her clearly but he felt her stormy grey eyes rest on him intently._

_She leaned in and held his hand firmly, as if trying to wake him up from the grip. He could hear her breathing heavily, her head resting over their overlapping hands._

_A few moments later, Sherlock felt her lean close to his ear and felt her warm breath as she whispered, "Don't die on me, Mr. Holmes. You still owe me dinner."_

_He felt her move away from him, but not before she planted a lingering kiss on his forehead. Her shoes clicked slightly on the floor and he heard close the door after her._

_Sherlock wanted to run after her or even just to make sure she really came to visit him. He hated to think that it was all just a figment of his imagination._

_A few hours later, Magnussen arrived just as he was slightly conscious and noted every flower arrangement sent to him._

_"And this one is from...W..." he heard Magnussen say with eyes trained on the red rose by the window. Why did she come, he thought, if it wasn't just his imagination then what could be the explanation. Magnussen's words were muffled to him. All his thoughts only concerned The Woman._

Sherrinford held the gun in between Sherlock's eyes with a grin plastered on his face. Sherlock could feel Irene shaking from anger at his side but he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Sherrinford wouldn't kill him. Not yet. Not without Mycroft.

Irene's words echoed in his mind over and over as he tried to stay unnerved by being held at gunpoint. 'Don't die on me, Mr. Holmes' she had said to him at the hospital a few months back. He managed to live just long enough to let Irene Adler know how she is to him. Was that enough? Would she resent him still if he dies within her plain sight?

"Sherrinford, what is it that you truly want?" he asked.

Sherrinford turned away from them, twirling the gun on his hand and away from his face. He felt Irene give out a silent sigh of relief. The other Holmes spun dramatically, again facing both of them with a cold look on his blue eyes.

"I despised that name, Sherlock. Despised the people who gave it to me... Despised the people who know me as poor and pathetic Sherrinford. Sebastian Moran is a master-a lord. I'm so tired of being the lesser Holmes-the brother who will never be as powerful and ambitious as Mycroft and who would never be as brilliant and bold as Sherlock. I was always the problem, the disease! Well, I owned being an abomination and here I am today." Sherrinford-Sebastian-snapped.

"That's all there is to it? You want revenge? How childish... How low it is of you." Irene mused, anger in her eyes.

With one swift move, Sherrinford marched and hit Sherlock's head with his gun, grabbed Irene by the hair, dragging her across the floor and shoving to one corner away from Sherlock, her head hitting a small cabinet. With blood trickling down his forehead, Sherlock scrambled to stand up but his brother's foot landed on his abdomen, knocking the air off of him. He coughed out blood, his eyes trying to focus on Irene's limp body a few feet away from him.

"Quite a mouth she's got, Sherlock. Maybe the two of us-Should. Play. A. Game!" Sherrinford spat as he kicked Sherlock over and over at every pause between the words. Sherlock heard a gunshot and felt a ripping pain enter his leg.

"Assurance that you won't go anywhere, baby brother." He heard his brother say as Sherrinford leaned down to him and brushed the end of the gun on his cheek.

"Don't... Don't you dare touch her..." Sherlock hissed, his voice hoarse.

Sherrinford smiled and held Irene's face level to his, taking out a knife from his coat pocket. "Now what should I carve on her pretty face?"

Sherlock started to struggle with his arms planted on the floor, pulling the entire weight of his body. "I thought Moriarty wanted her. Just... Just leave her out of this." Sherlock reminded him with a cracking voice.

Sherrinford started to run the dull side of the knife on Irene's face. "Sshhh... Don't spoil the moment, Sherlock. Think of it as art... You don't just love her for her face, don't you?"

Sherlock started moved towards them, dragging his bleeding leg as he crawled. The blood trickling down his forehead down to his chin caused a buzzing in his head and he could feel his body slowly numbing.

Sherrinford laid Irene down and walked over his brother, turning Sherlock flat on his back with a strong kick. The older Holmes lodged his foot on the detective's throat, smiling down as he did so.

"Trying so hard, Sherlock. No wonder all the love in the world was given to you by Mum and Dad. You... You just try and try to the point that it's almost-pitiful. You see why Mycroft resented you? Surely we both stand on the same end when it comes to our jealousy over precious Sherlock."

Sherlock could feel air slowly leave his lungs, his windpipe losing its use under his brother's force. His eyes landed on Irene, tears blurring her image as he tried to gasp for air. His hands tried to take Sherrinford away from him but his trembling fingers did no good.

With one last look at Irene's limp frame, Sherlock's eyes came to a close.


	16. The Sound of Shattered Pieces

_45 minutes past 10PM._

_Irene watched the clock tick and then shook her head. Sherlock Holmes is still out, leaving her with nothing but stale pie and cold tea. Great. Just great._

_She sighed and decided to take a warm bath just before hitting the hay._

_Stripping off every article of clothing she was wearing, she moaned at the feeling of warm water trickling down her pale skin. She reached for the soap and started massaging her body, the scent of mint lingering around her. Irene closed her eyes at the sensation, her mind trying to push away whatever annoyance she had over Sherlock Holmes._

_As her mind fleeted to his name, she felt her cheeks burning at the thought of him standing naked at the exact same spot she was in. Her mind reeled over the image of water droplets rolling down the smooth plane of his chest, down to his stomach and..._

_Irene shut the shower knob and steadied herself. The soap felt heavy on her hand and the thought that Sherlock had run the exact same thing on his body made her head buzz. Too much desire, Irene thought, and he's not even here._

_Putting the soap back on the rack, Irene gave herself one last rinse and reached for a towel. Walking over to the detective's room, she opened his closet-one that they both share as of the moment- and grabbed a black lace bra and panties. Her hand started to reach for her silk pyjamas but she shifted over Sherlock's side of the closet and grabbed one of his t-shirts._

_Sherlock had shopped clothes for her, with the help of Mary (who seemed surprised and bewildered at Sherlock's sudden interest in women's undergarments), supposedly telling everyone that it was for an experiment. He was keen on keeping their "arrangement" under the radar to "keep her safe." Irene smiled at the thought._

_Despite the availability of her new clothes, there was something comforting about Sherlock's wardrobe. The cotton shirt fell smoothly on her frame, the hem reaching just half her thigh. With one last look over the window, Irene found herself worried. Where in the world is that man?_

_And why was she worried anyway? It's not like he couldn't handle himself._

_Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached for his pillow and gave it a hard squeeze. She traced a hint of mint and smoke and coffee. Breathing it in, she decided it was time to rest for the day._

_Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard clunking by the door. Hurrying to see who it was, Irene found herself face to face with a drunken Sherlock Holmes._

_"This is why you're late? You're out drinking? And by the looks of it, a bottle or two is enough to get you lightheaded." Irene mused, smiling slightly._

_To her surprise, Sherlock grinned. "Hello, Ms. Adler... Why are you still up? We're you waiting for me?"_

_Irene rolled her eyes. "Don't get cocky. Come here..."_

_Irene placed Sherlock's arm over her shoulder and led him to the bed. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed and Irene laughed. "I want my partners willing, Mr. Holmes. No need to look frightened."_

_Sherlock stared at her with a dazed expression, his hand slightly caressing her bare thigh. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" the detective slurred, his voice deep and sultry that Irene felt shivers down her spine._

_"Shut up." Irene snapped, taking out a cloth from the bedside drawer. She left him for a moment, filling a basin with cold water and prepared a cup of coffee. Irene shook her head affectionately as she paved her way back to the bedroom._

_"I'm gonna clean you up, you drunke-" Irene caught her tongue at sight that greeted her. A huge heap of clothes were scattered on the foot of the bed and Sherlock Holmes lay soundlessly with only his trousers hanging low on his waist. Irene walked over and sat beside him, wiping his forehead with the cloth soaked in cold water._

_She studied him, looking all angelic without the intense look he always wore. She ran her finger over the detective's lashes, down the line of his nose and to the curve of his mouth. Irene smiled to herself as she watched Sherlock's bare chest rise up and down from breathing, a small scar visible from where Mary Watson shot him._

_Irene started wiping the cloth to Sherlock's arms and body, trying to take away the strong smell of alcohol that clung to his skin._

_"Irene Adler..." she heard him whisper and as she was about to answer back, she realised he was muttering in his sleep._

_"I... I don't know... I don't... I don't think I want her to leave..." he continued and Irene found herself caressing his face._

_"I'm not going anywhere." she whispered back as she lay down beside him, resting her head on his chest, both of them drifting to sleep._

_The next morning, Irene woke up when Sherlock shuffled beside her._

_"'Morning..." she greeted and Sherlock raised his eyebrows, noticing that she was only wearing his shirt and he himself was shirtless. Irene sat down and raised her hands as if surrendering._

_"You took your clothes off yourself and I swear nothing happened." she mused as she walked out of the bedroom, glancing back at him before she completely left._

_Irene swore she had seen a small smile form in his lips._

Irene could feel the air leaving her lungs. Images flashed on her mind as she found herself unable to move and her eyes were somehow forced to be shut.

She could only hear the muffled words of Sherrinford and she was certain he was trying to taunt Sherlock. A cold feeling brushed over her cheek and she could hear Sherlock's cracking voice. She wanted to scream out and feel his hand on hers for assurance.

Irene could smell the metallic scent of blood around her, the back of her head searing with pain. She couldn't feel her body, her brain was starting to feel numb as well.

Her ears were still trained on Sherlock, his whimpers motivating her to force her eyes open. She could hear him choking and she felt tears form from behind her eyelids. 'No! Don't do this to me, Sherlock!' she wanted to scream at him. He wouldn't leave her, not this way.

Irene started to fight the ripping sensation in her gut and throbbing pain of her head. She started to hear things more clearly, the constricted sound escaping from Sherlock's throat vivid in her ears.

As she was about to open her eyes, the sound stopped.

'Sherlock, don't do this to me.' she wanted to tell him, as her vision started to be tainted red.

Her eyes were half-open when she saw his trembling hands go motionless, his blazing blue eyes already hidden behind closed eyelids.

She looked up and saw Sherrinford's back to her, his shoulders trembling from a silent laughter.

Irene felt her heart bang against her chest loudly, her physical pain somehow drowned by the breaking of her heart. Sherlock Holmes isn't dead. She wouldn't believe it.

As she started to struggle to her feet with her eyes trained murderously on Sherrinford Holmes, a gleaming reflection caught the corner of her eye.

At that moment, Irene almost laughed at the idea that Sherrinford made the biggest mistake of his life...

And that is leaving a knife by her side.


	17. Stay With Me

Pain.

Irene Adler never thought that she would conquer so much pain. The feeling was almost forgotten when her fingers closed around the cold hilt of the knife on her feet.

Sherriford spat at Sherlock's lifeless form, a smile of victory wide on his face. As he turned to face her, Irene gathered up the small surge of strength she had left and lunged the knife at him. Sherrinford was quick, but not quick enough. The blade caused the flesh below his left rib to bleed, his face contorting in pain.

"You bitch!" He screamed, his gun aiming at Irene's tired stance.

Irene stooped down quickly despite the twisting pain in her gut and the blood in her eyes and got her hands on a piece of wood from the makeshift bed. She swung the plank at Sherrinford, the force of her movement causing her to be caught off balance.

Unfortunately, she missed.

Sherrinford pulled out the knife from his skin and tossed it aside, straddling Irene in one swift movement. He closed his fingers around her neck, a maniacal look gleaming in his eyes.

"I know I promised James that I would bring you to him but you've been quite difficult. I think he would understand if I wring you're pretty little neck."

Irene choked and struggled, her nails clawing the other Holmes' arm but it made no difference. He pointed the gun at the centre of her forehead, leaning down to meet her face-to-face.

"Shame... You could've been quite a trophy beside me and Jim. Sadly, just like everyone else in this pathetic world, you chose Sherlock Holmes." Sherrinford hissed, his grip on Irene's neck tightening.

Despite the fear, Irene looked Sherrinford in the eye, her hand reaching towards Sherlock's direction. "The world is not pathetic-you are!" She managed to say as she stole one last look to see Sherlock-the man who loved and valued her to the highest extent possible.

She had never put a thought about her death before but she realised that this was the way she would want to go- fighting side by side with the most brilliant man whom she had the opportunity to fall for. And knowing he felt the same about her made everything better.

Irene felt the cold end of the gun touch her bleeding forehead and the sound of a gunshot pierced through the air.

"I love you"-these three words seemed foreign to both of them, never escaping from their lips.

It was such a mundane expression. What is love? How would you even quantify it? How would you even know once love is true?

They were magnets. Opposite poles demanding attraction-the perfect example of laws of nature at work.

"Beyond"-this is how both of them see their chemistry. What they have was not formed out of shallow ideologies of physical attraction. It was a battle of the minds.

Irene felt Sherrinford's weight over hers, his blood now droplets on her face. Squinting her eyes, both in pain and in dizziness, she saw John Watson and Greg Lestrade lifting Sherrinford off her.

With John's help, Irene slumped down beside Sherlock, her ear on his chest checking for the sound of his heart, her hands trembling and her tears falling.

"He's going to be okay, Irene. He just passed out but he's going to be okay. The ambulance is already on the way." John reassured her but his voice was cracking, his arms supporting her weak body.

Irene levelled her face with Sherlock, her lips brushing over his with a small smile on her face. "Stay with me." she whispered.

With that, she felt restlessness and pain wash over her body, her eyes fluttering close as she gave in to unconsciousness.


	18. Blue Eyes

Sherlock opened his eyes, squinting at the glinting rays peeping through the window. He shifted to the other side of the bed, Irene Adler no longer present.

_All I know, on the morning when I woke..._

_That I knew something now, knew something now that I didn't before..._

After the night he went home drunk and had shared a bed with Irene, the instance occurred more often. Not everyday, but often. Especially during the times when Irene takes note of his restlessness from a challenging case.

_And all I've seen since eighteen hours ago_

_Is blue eyes and freckles and your smile_

_In the back of my mind making me feel like..._

Nothing happens, of course, because most of the time they would face away from each other, keeping to their own sides of the bed. Still, Sherlock became used to the idea of waking up next to her, taking in every detail of her resting face.

_I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now..._

_I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now..._

He heard her voice coming from the outside, muffled by the closed door. Slowly, he left the bedroom and saw Irene in the kitchen. She was making coffee, the earphones that she had on was connected to Sherlock's iPhone. Despite this image, the thing that stood out from the detective was Irene Adler's voice. She was singing along to the song that was unfamiliar to him and yet he found himself allured.

_'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello."_

_And your eyes look like coming home_

_All I know is a simple name_

_Everything has changed_

_All I know is you held the door_

_You'll be mine and I'll be yours_

_All I know since yesterday is everything has changed..._

Sitting on his chair, he studied her intently as she swayed to the music only she can hear, her dark hair twisted in a messy bun on her head, her face and legs bare. Sherlock felt heat rush to his face at the thought that despite wearing a simple grey shirt over her frame, Irene Adler managed to look beautiful.

'And then there's her brilliant mind, too.' He thought to himself, almost cringing as he did so. Did he just compliment her? In his mind palace? Bizarre.

_Come back and tell me why_

_I'm feeling like I've missed you all this time, oh, oh, oh._

_And meet me there tonight_

_And let me know that it's not all in my mind..._

His reverie was broken when Irene dropped a spoon, apparently surprised at the sight of him.

She took off the earphones and walked over to him, coffee mug at hand. "Black and two sugars, right?"

He nodded, trying to avoid her eyes. If there was even a hint of admiration in his look, he hoped Irene didn't notice.

"I don't remember having that song on my phone. I mean... The song that you're singing." He muttered as the mug reached his lips.

"Oh. You heard that. Sorry." Irene replied, embarrassment evident in her voice.

Sherlock shook his head, almost too eagerly. "Oh no... NO. I mean... It's fine."

With that, Irene smiled and Sherlock did too. The detective, upon catching himself, wiped the smile off his face. 'She distracted me again,' he thought.

Clearing his throat, Sherlock raised his eyebrows at Irene. "The songs?"

"Oh! I love your violin pieces... I do... It's a bit narcissistic to have them on your phone though, isn't it? My absolute favourite would be 'T.W.S'. What does that stand for?" Irene mused, leaning down to return his phone.

Sherlock glared at her. 'T.W.S' meant The Woman's Song (Irene's Theme). Of course he can't tell her that. "Still doesn't explain the..." he browsed his playlist, "...Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran? And apparently, you downloaded all of their songs."

Irene crossed her arms over her chest. "Not ALL of their songs. That's ridiculous!"

Unable to help himself, he smiled again.

That night, when Irene greeted him a good night and went off to the bedroom, Sherlock picked up his violin and started to pluck some notes. Grabbing the earphones Irene left by the kitchen table, he plugged it in his phone and looked for the song Irene was singing.

He didn't know why he was doing this, his logical side seemed to have flown out of the window. All he could think of was the sound of her voice, that soft timbre that spoke the words of the song like a well-thought out story.

He paused as something caught his attention and backtracked the song a few beats back.

_And all I've seen since eighteen hours ago_

_Is green eyes and freckles and your smile_

_In the back of my mind making me feel like..._

Green eyes? He was absolutely sure Irene said-he smiled-blue.

At the thought, he continued playing until he got the notes right.

Little did he know, Irene was sitting by the bedroom door with a wide grin plastered on her face as she sang softly along Sherlock's new piece.

***

A dream.

No. A memory.

Sherlock started to shuffle, his eyes adjusting to the bright white room. "Irene..." he said, his voice hoarse from the lack of use.

"Sherlock, good! You're awake." he heard someone say and found John.

Panic started to rise on his throat, trying to struggle from all the tubes attached to him. "Where's Irene? JOHN! TELL ME! WHERE'S IRENE?" he exclaimed, his eyes widening.

John forced him to lay down back to the bed and relax but Sherlock struggled.

"SHE-SHE'S FINE! WILL. YOU. BLOODY. CALM. DOWN?! Or so help me, I will knocked you so bad, it would put you in a coma." John hissed, his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. "She's in the other room and Mary's watching over her."

"I wanna see her." Sherlock said, almost out of breath.

"She's resting." John replied, letting go of Sherlock since he stopped struggling.

"How is she?" Sherlock asked, his eyes full of demand.

"Recovering..." John said, a small smile on his face.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Something funny?"

John's smile grew wider, his head shaking. "I never thought I would live the day to see you in love. I'm just happy for you, Sherlock."

"Happy? Every inch of my body is aching and the woman I'm... in love with is also in a hospital bed and you are happy?" Sherlock mused, laughing and John joined him.

"So you do? Love her, I mean." John acclaimed.

Sherlock met his friend's eyes in recognition. "Yes. I believe I do."

John rubbed his hands together. "Are we gonna go shop for a ring, then?"

Sherlock stared at John, the question taking him by surprise, his thoughts lingering on Irene. He took a deep breath, the answer playing on the tip of his tongue.


	19. Heavy Heart

Irene's head was spinning.

She could feel her sweat cold, her eyes blurry and her skin burning. Sherlock was working on a case and won't be back until the evening-great. She got a fever and is currently alone.

Irene rummaged all over the flat to find an aspirin but found none. Feeling dizzy, she stayed in bed, shivering despite the layers of blanket over her.

She could feel her chest constricting from the coughs, her eyes tear-stained and stinging. Her body shook violently from the cold and her every nerve numb.

As she was about to drift off to sleep, she heard a familiar voice call her name but she felt too tired to respond.

"Ms. Adler, I came back to... Ms. Adler? Ms. Adler, where are you?" she heard Sherlock call, his tone escalating in panic. Finally, she saw him emerge on the doorframe, his face contorting with worry when he saw her.

Leaning in and touching her forehead, Sherlock cussed. Hastily, he took out his scarf and wrapped it around her neck. He took her hands and rubbed them against his, his warm breath filling in her fingers.

Sherlock's blue eyes blazed in worry, shucking out his coat and putting it over her as well.

"I'll be right back." she heard him say, his tone so gentle that Irene was almost surprised.

After a few moments, Sherlock came back with a tray at hand containing a bowl of soup, a glass of water and an aspirin. "I got this from Mrs. Hudson. Come on..." he placed the tray on the bedside table and helped Irene to sit up, leaning her against him as he rubbed his hands on her arms for heat.

She noticed his eyes were avoiding hers, his hands slightly trembling as he tried to feed her the soup. "Tha-thank you." she managed to say.

Sherlock smiled softly, giving her another spoonful of soup. "You're welcome."

"I thought *cough* you were working *cough* on a case?" she asked.

Sherlock looked at her with his tender blue eyes and she sensed that he was hesitant to give her an answer. "I... I just had a feeling to go back here and check on you."

Irene raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh."

"Yes." Sherlock replied, his eyes lingering on her eyes down to her lips. She could feel heat rising up her neck because of their proximity.

She noticed he was starting to lean in but he hesitated. Irene looked away, her hand touching his as she reached for the bowl of soup. "I... I think I can... manage." she muttered.

Sherlock gave the bowl to her almost hazily, straightening his clothes as he stood up. "O...of course you can."

As he was about to walk out the door, he looked back at her and met her gaze. Fidgeting, he walked back to her and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head.

"Take care, Ms. Adler. I... I'll see you tonight." he said almost to himself as he went away without looking back at her, missing the small smile that rose in Irene Adler's face.

***

"Sherlock?" Irene muttered, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

Her eyes adjusted to the bright white room. The friendly face of Mary Watson greeted her.

"I was just talking to John earlier. Sherlock did the exact same thing when he woke up. Called your name." Mary said, giggling. "You two are adorable."

Irene smiled, wincing as she tried to sit up. "Where is he? Is he doing well?"

Mary nodded. "He's in the next room. According to John, he almost ripped his tubes out to see you. What'd you do to him? Making him crazier than usual. But I guess that means he's doing fine."

"Good. That's good." Irene replied, wanting to see Sherlock at this exact moment. She wanted to rip her tubes out, too.

Mary studied her and held her hand. "I think he wouldn't allow this day to end without him seeing you. He would sneak in somehow."

Irene gripped Mary's hand, grateful for her presence. A few months back, she was furious at the thought that this woman shot Sherlock-but after he explained the circumstances, she saw how much Mary meant to Sherlock and now, to her as well.

"I never got to thank John and the Detective Inspector. How did they find us anyway?" Irene asked.

Mary explained what had happened, from John calling Sherlock and finding out he's headed to Brixton, to the point when John and Lestrade decided to meet Mycroft only to find the older Holmes shot at his own residence.

"Mycroft is also in this hospital, recovering." Mary relayed.

Irene's eyebrows furrowed, her eyes blazed in panic. "And... And their brother? Sherrinford?"

"John and Lestrade took care of him. Mycroft also had his fair share of the justice." Mary quietly said.

Irene felt herself shaking. Of relief or fear, she wasn't sure. "Moriarty is still out there."

Mary went over and hugged her. "We will protect you, Irene. Sherlock will protect you."

Irene felt tears blur her vision, her hand gripping Mary's arm for support. "I'm not scared for myself. If I wasn't with Sherlock, Sherrinford would have one less person to use against him. He would've found a way to track him and take care of him and protect all of you without risking so much of himself. Moriarty will use me against him. I know it."

Mary tried to console her, rocking her slightly. "Shhhh... Don't think that, Irene. Everything will be okay. You're safe now. All of us are safe now. And we can all face Moriarty together."

Biting her lips to prevent herself from wailing, Irene shut her eyes, her heart heavy.

Just as she decided what to do upon release from the hospital, both Mary and herself heard a knock from the door.

Mary let go of her, wiping tears just like she was. "I guess John failed in trying to stop Sherlock from coming sooner."


	20. And When Our Eyes Meet

_His blazing blue eyes._

_Her stormy grey eyes._

_The curve of his smart mouth._

_The danger in her red lips._

_The look of his curls on a Monday morning._

_Her dark hair framing her face._

_These things are what normal people see, but does it really matter?_

_Not to them._

_The way his eyes light up at an idea._

_The look on her eyes when she comes up with a plan._

_The timbre of his voice when he gives out his deductions._

_The sultriness of her tone when she outsmarts people._

_His brilliance._

_Her skill._

_These are the things that tie them together._

As the door opened, their eyes met.

Mary said something about leaving but both of them were oblivious to whatever it was that escaped her lips. It was as if the world was tipped off its balance and the sight of each other was their gravity.

The door closed as Mary left and Sherlock started making his way to Irene, pulling his dextrose long with him. His hand reached out to touch her cheek and Irene felt her heart flutter.

"Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked, noticing the redness of her eyes. Irene just shook her head, kissing Sherlock's palm.

"Lie with me." Irene simply said and Sherlock obliged. Irene rested her head on the detective's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. She smiled as she felt Sherlock's lips on the crown of her head.

"Irene... When we get discharged, would you come with me?" Sherlock asked, his fingers gliding along her hair.

Irene looked up at him. "Where?"

"Coventry. I remember you telling me that you've never been there before." Sherlock replied and a smile stretched across their faces at the memory.

"I would love that." Irene simply replied, her chest aching as she remembered her earlier conversation with Mary.

Sherlock studied her grey eyes before closing his own, his thoughts lingering to his conversation with John.

_"I don't think she will stay, John. We both know from day one that we will go on separate ways one way or another." he recalled telling his friend._

_"She would stay now. Especially with you two... You know... In love and all." John cussed. "Still weirded out with that. Sorry."_

_"I still won't let her. It's safer for her to not be with me. Not with Moriarty still out there." Sherlock replied._

_John just stared at him, somehow disappointed._

"I know what you're thinking. I'll understand." he mused, trying to shut his eyes hard enough to stop the tears from falling.

Irene nuzzled his neck, tears also stinging her eyes. "I believe Coventry will be a wonderful memory." she whispered.

"Yes. A memory I will keep in my mind forever." Sherlock replied as he memorised how it feels like to have Irene Adler in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! The next chapter will be the finale! I just wanna thank everyone who stayed with this fic until the end and I hope that you appreciate how I'll end this story. Looking forward to all the reviews and comments as this comes to a close. xx ~throughtheparadox


	21. Close Your Eyes and Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! This will be the last chapter of 'When I Say Run, Run'. I wrote this chapter while listening on loop to Ed Sheeran's Photograph that served as the inspiration of what will transpire in this finale chapter. I just wanna express my thanks to everyone who followed this story and I will be working on a new one again so I hope you watch out for that. :) Enjoy!

Everyone came.

John, Mary, Baby Lizzie, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Violet and Sigir Holmes and even Sherlock's little fan club. Mycroft was also present, although it was more of a compulsory act rather than voluntary.

Irene smiled at them, her eyes shining in both happiness and nervousness. Everyone was worried, of course, but they accepted the situation openly.

It was Sherlock that worried her the most.

He was fidgety the night before, both of them lacking sleep because of the pounding in their chests. He was memorising every moment before the big day. And so was she.

"Are you ready?" he asked, reaching for her hand.

She reached up to him and planted a slight kiss to his lips, trying to hide the tears forming in her eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Sherlock and Irene emerged together, hand in hand as they greeted the small gathering in front of them. Tears started to rush out as they smiled at them.

Sherlock let go of her hand to allow the hugs of the women in the room, all of them getting utterly emotional. Irene gave him a weak smile and left him to the gentlemen. She saw John and Lestrade clap their palms on Sherlock's back.

Finally, Violet and Sigir Holmes stood in front of her, Violet giving her a hug and Sigir a kiss on her hand. Irene felt a wave of emotions rush through her, glancing at Sherlock. He gave her a soft smile.

"Nice to meet you Irene. Pity we have to meet under the circumstances of my middle child trying to..." Violet said, apologetic, choking in tears.

"But then your other son saved me... I guess it balances things off." She mused, smiling.

"Do you really have to leave, dear?" Sigir asked, stealing a glance at his son.

Irene nodded, her eyes studying the face of everyone in the room. This was not an event to celebrate, it was goodbye.

Sherlock Holmes had always thought that keeping memories in his Mind Palace was enough. The memory of Irene was kept alive in his for a long time. He wanted to delete her as she proved to be a distraction despite her absence but he just couldn't.

Now he understood why.

Irene Adler had always thought that she would never find love. It was something she lost faith in a long, long time ago. Sherlock was the least person in the world who anyone would have believed to instil that feeling towards another being but she fell in deep.

Now she understood why.

Sherlock borrowed John and Mary's car for their small trip. Bidding everyone one last look, Irene waved her hand as they drove away.

As Irene stared at the view outside the window, she felt Sherlock's hand in hers. She looked at him, the sadness in his eyes evident. Irene squeezed his hand and he smiled.

"What do you wanna do when we get there?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know. Told you I've never been." Irene replied, her eyes studying him. "Is this sentiment I see, Mr. Holmes? Are you gonna miss me?" she teased despite the lack of humour in her tone.

"Asking for sentiment is a sign of sentiment, Ms. Adler." he replied.

Sherlock, upon arrival at Coventry, realised that a person's perception of a place changes depending on the person you come with. He rejected the idea of people associating a place with a memory because no matter how hard a person tries, a memory can only instil a feeling at similar circumstances.

In this case, he promised himself to not pay attention to the place but rather to memorise every action Irene will make. He watched as the breeze caused curls escape her up-do, her grey eyes gleaming with sadness.

The day would end despite their protests, won't it?

Irene smiled and he returned it. She reached for his face and he held her hand in place. "It's not as lovely as I expected it to be."

Sherlock nodded. "Quite a bore, isn't it?"

He held her gaze, wondering how long will it take for him to see her eyes again. "What would you rather have us do?"

Irene grinned but not reaching her eyes. "Teach me deductions."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Irene crossed her arms on her chest. "Deductions, dear. I wanna learn."

"It can be quite boring." Sherlock mused.

"Don't be silly. It's one of the things I love about you." she replied and both of them laughed.

There was something in them that was quite off that day. The magnitude of dread always lingered around them. Everything was a blur-the people, the place... It was just the two of them trying to make their last moment together count.

"Is it appropriate to tell you I love you?" Sherlock asked, almost shyly.

At the question, Irene smiled. "Yes. And I love you too."

"Although, I'm just saying this because there is no proper word to quantify what has been going on between us. Of course there is the idea of mind battling and unending mystery. There is also the physical attraction which comes second to the sapiosexuality of..." Sherlock tried to explain but Irene planted a kiss on his lips to shut him up.

"You are ruining the moment, Sherlock." She told him, laughing.

The thought of deleting all of this seemed preferable to Sherlock. Never in his life has he felt so much emotion-well, never after Redbeard. There is something different about this pain, something more excruciating. He found Irene- someone who he is absolutely sure that was made for him and was about to lose her. The first time was more bearable for everything else was unclear back then. He realised that when an idea is spoken, it will be more impactful on someone's life. The mere idea of admitting his feelings for Irene had caused giving a part of himself to her. And she to him.

The day was almost to its end, both of them silent as they journeyed one last time together.

Both of them entered Baker Street in silence, feeling the air thicken as the silent promise lingered the air.

This will be the last night.

"Sherlock?" Irene mused, breaking his reverie.

"Yes?" he replied, turning to face her.

She walked over to him, her hand reaching for his cheek. She saw his eyes close, the pain in his heart evident in his face as he felt her touch.

Irene bit her lip, trying to prevent herself from breaking down. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest as she kissed him, a cry escaping her lips.

Sherlock closed in the distance between them, his arms around her as he kissed her back eagerly, his chest constricting in pain. He tried to take in as much as possible, wanting to memorise every detail of this moment.

Irene tried to steady herself on his arms, trying to store in her mind what it feels like to be held by him. She could feel him breathing as heavily as her, their bodies both shaking in desperation and emotional torture.

The warmth of the tears falling from their eyes were dismissed, both of them lost in the moment.

"I don't want you to go." Sherlock said, his voice cracking as he held Irene's face.

"I know. I don't want to, either." Irene replied, her heart sinking to her feet.

Sherlock kissed her again, more hungrily. "But this is the only way to keep you safe."

Irene nodded despite the protests of her heart. "And to keep you safe as well."

She gave him a weak smile, tears rushing down her cheeks. "Love is a dangerous disadvantage. Simple yet very destructive. Especially for two psychopaths like us."

"High-functioning sociopath, Ms. Adler. Do your research." Sherlock replied, trying to return her smile but to no avail. His tear-stained blue eyes pierced her heart in two.

"It's time." she heard him whisper, his voice cracking.

Irene glanced at the wall clock.11:30PM. Her flight to New York (as arranged by Mycroft) is due midnight. "You... Don't do anything stupid."

"Can't promise that." Sherlock replied almost choking.

Irene turned away, heading to the bedroom to get her coat and handbag. Mycroft had Anthea fetch her luggage earlier that day.

At the moment when both of them were separated by walls, Irene and Sherlock both broke down. Irene's knees wobbled and she slumped to the floor, clutching her arms as if trying to keep herself together. Sherlock just stood his ground, his hands clenched to fists on his sides, trying to stop himself from throwing things and shooting the wall.

It was the only way to keep one another safe. Irene doesn't want to tear Sherlock apart like the time when he was forced to choose between John and her. It had almost cost him his life trying to save her. She can't do that to him.

Sherlock doesn't want his enemies dragging Irene in order to hurt him. He doesn't want her to be the object of their interest, just because she meant the world to him. It had almost cost her her life because of mere association with him. He can't do that to her.

Besides, they weren't like normal people who would throw every logical thought at the expense of love. As they said before, they are beyond that. Beyond everything else.

Irene tried to put herself together before facing Sherlock again. Silently, they headed outside 221B. As Irene requested, the service car to take her to the airport will have to wait at the end of the street. She wanted to take her time parting with Sherlock.

As they reached the front step, Irene turned to face Sherlock. The detective leaned in for one final kiss, one last embrace, one last look.

When their lips parted, Sherlock held Irene's gaze and whispered, "Just close your eyes, turn away and... when I say run, run..."

Irene nodded as she did what Sherlock said, running fast enough to not see Sherlock fall on his knees in tears as he watched her disappear into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Apologies on how this fic ended... But no worries! It's not over yet. The sequel is up titled "Star-Crossed in a Glass Case." I do hope you check it out.
> 
> Much love from me and I hope to hear from you all soon!
> 
> Xoxo,  
> throughtheparadox


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